


Temptation

by HappyStony



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, M/M, No Bashing, because i’m lazy, brief stuckony, but threesome, endgame Stony, even poor Tony, just isn’t something I’m into, random office jobs, some stucky, sorry I can’t do poly, they’re all normal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-06-23 15:58:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15609837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyStony/pseuds/HappyStony
Summary: It’s mostly dark, but the moon illuminates a lot, seeing as they left their blinds up. His eyes immediately go to Steve, as much as he’d rather survey the room first. He’s half hard in a few seconds, because Steve has his hands tied above his head, not attached to anything, so it’s clear that he’s purposely in that position. He’s sweating a lot, Tony can see it glistening on his skin, and he’s quivering, light moans coming out here and there. Tony’s eyes rake his body, and he notices some thing on Steve’s (very red, very wet) cock, his member so hard it almost looks painful. There’s a light sound in the background, only heard when Steve isn’t moaning, and Tony can’t help but think that it sounds like an electric toothbrushOr:Very, VERY loosely based off of: Imagine persons A and B have a very active sex life, with B having more stamina than A, as a result, A calls in C as back up one night and finds that together they're capable of sating B's lust. Bonus points if they move in together. Bonus if A has to go on a trip at some point, leaving C to handle B alone. C isn't worried, how bad can B be? Cue C's screams waking the neighborhood for a week.Not polyamorous sorry





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So saw this prompt and got a little inspired. Still not sure where I’m going with this but hopefully it’ll be fun :3 
> 
> Again, NOT polyamorous. I’m not interested in writing that type of relationship, if that’s what you’re looking for!

Tony never paid much attention to the gossip his friends spread about Steve and Bucky. He mostly kept to himself, uncaring of what the two did in bed together. He did catch snippets of conversations, however, of how their sex life was. It was made quite clear by Sam how disturbed he was, seeing the amount of hickeys and bruises he’d accidentally see on Bucky’s skin, the man apparently wearing them proudly. Tony also remembers Natasha whispering to Clint about a full five hour threesome, along with some talk about whips and cock rings and ropes before Tony hightailed it out of there. Bruce mentioned that he’d never again stay at Steve and Bucky’s house, even if he had to stay out in the streets, because of how loud the two got when they were going at it— _every fucking night_. Worst four days of Bruce’s life, in Bruce’s words.

 

Still. Tony wasn’t interested in learning about their preferred activities. He had his own bedmates to worry about, and on top of that he was friends with Steve, and well acquainted with Bucky. Imagining the both of them together isn’t the best way to pass time. No siree.

 

So...why can’t he simply reply back that he isn’t interested? It’ll ruin the friendship. The thing he has going on with them. And work, dammit. He works with Steve. How would he go back to being normal after...this?

 

He re-reads the text message Bucky sent him. Just to make sure he still isn’t imagining things. It happens.

 

From: Bucky

Hey would ya mind havin a quickie with us Saturday night? Were looking for new partners to switch things up. Text me back asap if ur interested

 

And this was sent...twenty three minutes ago. Would tomorrow be too late? Maybe he should purposely sleep on it, so that when he goes into work tomorrow, see’s Steve, his ears will gladly perk up when he’s told the window of opportunity has closed. Saturday is in two days, for God’s sake anyway. Why couldn’t they give Tony more time to re-evaluate his life? His goals? Who he is as a person? He doesn’t just do threesomes, let alone threesomes with good _friends_. Who do they think he is? Seriously, he’d like the answer to that because who the fuck thought he was a great candidate for this?

 

Holy shit. Who thought he was a good candidate for this? It had to be one of them that brought Tony up. Was it Bucky? Is that why he was the one that texted Tony? Why didn’t Steve? Tony doesn’t know why that should matter. It doesn’t matter which one thought of him. Steve is a friend, and a co-worker. A really, really good looking co-worker friend. The thought of Steve freaking Rogers telling his boyfriend he’d like a threesome with Tony Stark totally doesn’t make Tony’s heart skip a beat. Not one bit. Nope.

 

...he’ll sleep on it. Who knows, maybe it wasn’t even meant for Tony. Sometimes that can happen, sending a text to the wrong person. It’s happened to Tony before. People get distracted, it’s normal.

 

Maybe not asking for threesomes normal but...normal.

 

Tony leaves his phone next to him on the nightstand, blankly staring into black nothingness. He tries not to think too hard on the offer (like some damn promotion that most certainly isn’t happening in the near future), and tries to distract himself with thoughts of work, what he has to get done by Monday, and suddenly he’s lost in whether or not he left the trash bag outside his door instead of remembering to put it in the garbage can like he said he would because he was too fucking lazy to do it right then and there. Shit.

 

 

He dreams about a shirtless Steve he’s seen at pool parties and a teasing Bucky giving biting quips to Tony and he wakes up hard and aching, very close to a spill. It’s dumb, and so embarrassing Tony doesn’t even touch himself, quickly thinking about dogs fucking cats before hopping into a cold, cold shower. He doesn’t even think of the phone on his nightstand.

 

He gets out squeaky clean and less ashamed, not sure of what time it is before realizing that his alarm has been going off for who knows how long. When he gets out of the bathroom to turn it off, it’s six forty two, and Tony decides it just might be a good day.

 

He still hasn’t re-looked at the text by the time he’s clocked into work. He’s had his morning coffee and a good hearty breakfast. He’s clean and has freshly washed clothes on. He feels good. He doesn’t need a damn text to ruin his day, or weekend for that matter. He’s sure it was mistake. One of them should text him by now, whether or not to ask he was still interested or to say that they found someone else. Hey, there’s the optimism.

 

“Ah—you alright there, Tony?”

 

Tony jumps, quick to turn his computer on. Right. Work. He turns to see Clint giving him a skeptical look. Tony leans back into his chair.

 

“What do you want Clint?”

 

“What do _I_ want? Well, since you asked so nicely, what were you smiling so goofily at? Find some good free porn on the interwebs?”

 

“Even if I did, it’d be none of your business,” Tony says, logging in to his computer. “Second, go away. Do something for once in your life.”

 

“That makes no sense. How can you say ‘second’ without adding a first?”

 

“Go away!”

 

Clint jumps, but it was overly dramatic and not funny at all, so Tony has no idea why Clint is cackling with laughter. At least he’s leaving. Finally, some peace.

 

That is until a set of perfectly manicured fingernails plop a pile of papers onto his desk.

 

He looks up just in time to see Natasha’s bubble gum pop. He’s pretty sure that isn’t allowed.

 

“Boss says these gotta be done by Wednesday.”

 

“Got it.”

 

“And he wants to know if you’ve finished what he gave you last Thursday.”

 

“Gonna be done by Monday.”

 

“You also haven’t faxed that Kinsley paper yet.”

 

“I...” Tony blinks, surprised. “...did not. On it. Thanks, Nat.”

 

She winks, setting off to run whatever other errands she has to do for the day. She’s the real lady running this business, that’s for sure. Working hard every day and night. Tony never would have asked for a better co-worker.

 

The rest of the day is filled with computer screens, papers, coffee, typing, pen ink, more coffee and screen time until finally there’s a lunch break.

 

He takes his lunch out, prepared to munch on the pathetic salad he bought in the little break room. There are plenty of people around him already, Natasha and Pepper talking on the couch near him, and Clint bothering the poor new guy just behind Tony and to the right of him there’s Rhodey, his literal right hand man.

 

“Oh hey, Steve. Got any plans for the weekend?”

 

Tony chokes, and he tries his best to keep salad bits from flying all over. Rhodey pats his back harshly and Tony has to tell him repeatedly he’s fine (while coughing unfortunately) before Rhodey finally decides to stop.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Tony looks up at Steve, his eyes watering. He looks like he has a halo around his head, the way the light is reflecting off his blond hair. He’s swallowing, his lips parting just the slightest, almost giving off a pout. Tony quickly looks down at his salad again.

 

“‘M fine. Sorry about that. Must’ve gone down the wrong pipe.”

 

“It _did_ ,” Rhodey says, laughing. “Anyway, what were you saying?”

 

“I didn’t say anything,” Steve says, smiling. “But Bucky’s actually going away soon, meeting a client, so we might be doing something fun this weekend. You?”

 

Tony doesn’t hear what Rhodey says. Fun? Is the threesome supposed to be the ‘fun’ thing? Was the text really meant for Tony? Steve’s not giving anything away. He’s not eyeing Tony, asking to talk to him in private. He’s not even acting weird. It’s like he doesn’t even know that Bucky sent the text. What if it’s all Bucky’s plan? But it can’t be, because who says Steve would even be interested in doing anything with Tony? Oh, the embarrassment. What if Tony agrees and suddenly Steve see’s him and calls the whole thing off? He can imagine it already, Steve’s face falling when he realizes the extra person they’ll be having is pathetic little ol’—

 

“Tony?” Rhodey asks, bringing Tony back into the present. He blinks, all the sound of chatter coming back in a rush.

 

He looks around, realizing that Rhodey and Steve are looking at him expectantly.

 

“Plans,” Steve says, as an explanation. He’s standing tall in front of Tony, his arms crossed. He looks relaxed, not one hair out of place, or wrinkle in his clothing. “For the weekend.”

 

Tony’s mouth goes dry.

 

“Oh.” He presses his fork down into a piece of lettuce, bringing it to his mouth and slowly chews. “Ah, nothing. Work, mostly. Busy weekend with...work.”

 

Rhodey snorts, standing up from the couch. Tony watches in disbelief. So much for right hand man. Dang it.

 

“Alright. Talk to you two later. If any of y’all free, you know who to call.”

 

Tony watches Rhodey leave to talk to another person. He’s such a traitor. How can he do this to Tony? He barely stayed by him for six minutes. Granted, Tony barely talked for those six minutes, but for half that time Steve was there! Steve, who is now...occupying Rhodey’s previous spot.

 

“Hey,” Steve mumbles, “You alright there? You look a little...sick.”

 

Tony shakes his head, finishing his lunch.

 

“Mm mm,” He hums with a mouthful of greens, shaking his head. He swallows, not immature enough to talk with his mouth full. “I’m fine, actually. Really fine. You? How’ve you been?”

 

Steve turns his head, looking around before leaning a little closer.

 

“You never answered Buck.”

 

Tony physically fights off a jolt, his eyes widening. How can Steve say that out loud? They’re at work. This is insane. He wishes he was never a part of this. He liked it better when he could talk to Steve comfortably, confidently. He was so good at it, too. He can make Steve smile within seconds, engage him in a conversation so easily it didn’t even require his full attention. Now he feels like a high schooler with a crush again. This isn’t good for his damn self confidence.

 

“So...that wasn’t an accident,” Tony chooses to say, suddenly not hungry. He puts a lid over his food.

 

“No. It wasn’t.”

 

“Do you realize how inappropriate this is?” Tony asks, keeping his voice low and eyes narrowed. “We _work_ together, Steve.”

 

“I do,” Steve says dryly, but he looks more amused than anything else. “That’s why Bucky texted you instead.”

 

“Do you two always do this?” Tony asks, deflecting. He waves his fork around the room. “Asking people from work to fulfill...I don’t even know. Is this some kind of kink?” Tony ducks, hoping no one heard. Steve doesn’t even bat an eye.

 

“Threesomes?”

 

Tony rolls his eyes, covering his face. He never realized how little shame Steve has.

 

“No,” he hisses. His shoulders slump. He doesn’t feel like re-saying the whole ‘asking coworkers’ kink part. He stays quiet, not offering Steve an explanation.

 

Why did it take so long for them to finally ask Tony, anyway? Why is he last?

 

“Is there a medical problem?”

 

Tony groans, rolling his eyes. “No, there’s no _problem_ with me. I don’t have a _disease_.” Tony stresses the word, hoping Steve will catch his drift. That’s another thing he needs to worry about: contracting some sort of STD from these two.

 

Steve nods appreciatively, and it makes Tony scowl. “Oh—good. That’s great. Buck and I recently got tested. We’re good too.”

 

“Of course,” Tony mumbles, and Steve raises his eyebrows.

 

“I didn’t realize how vanilla you were,” Steve says, his hand up to his chin. He shrugs, as if he’s shrugging Tony off, which isn’t cool. “Sorry about this, Tony. It won’t happen again.”

 

“Hey,” Tony says, offended. He has a feeling Steve is doing this on purpose, but he’s going along anyway. Screw him. Not...literally. “I’m not _vanilla_. I’m just...surprised.”

 

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Steve says earnestly, and damn him for not listening to Tony. “To each their own, or whatever.”

 

“No, nuh uh. I’m down. You hear that, Rogers? I’m down. Won’t be my first time.”

 

Because Tony _isn’t_ vanilla. Tony’s had his fair share of women and men in his bed. He’s had threesomes, with two women however. Probably once with one other guy, but two guys? This sounds a bit much. Fuck. He is vanilla; Tony has never once considered using anything other than a condom for sex. Not even handcuffs. Zilch.

 

Steve looks skeptically at Tony. He isn’t sure if he likes that look on Steve; it’s disconcerting.

 

“See you tomorrow then. Make sure to text Bucky back. He doesn’t like being kept waiting.”

 

Steve stands and walks away with that, as if he doesn’t care that Tony just agreed. He probably doesn’t. Tony pretends it doesn’t hurt as much as it does.

 

Tomorrow night is...definitely going to be one hell of a ride. If he doesn’t back out last minute. And if he finds the courage to text Bucky back. Why did he agree to this again?

 

Why is he being so jittery? He’s Tony Stark. He’s got this. It’s just Steve, and Bucky. Just two hot guys asking Tony, which so happens to also be hot, mind you, for an incredibly triple hot threesome Saturday night. Imagine all that hotness. It would burn the room down with all that...heat. Yeah. Tony knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s an Adult™️. He’s capable of making his own decisions. That he will hopefully not regret.

 

 

 

He gets home tired and unable to concentrate on one single thing. Steve barely talked to him for the rest of the day, which Tony guesses is fine with him. It’s not like they’re suddenly in a relationship together. It’s just going to be sex, with Steve and his damn boyfriend. Why would Steve act any different? It’s nothing serious; in his eyes, at the very least. Whatever. If Steve doesn’t care then neither does Tony.

 

He still needs to text Bucky back. Has Steve let Bucky know by now? That he talked to Tony, and that Tony agreed, of all things? A part of Tony hopes that it’s too late by now, the metaphorical window should be shut tight and never opened for Tony again, and he’d be damn okay with that.

 

If this makes him so damn uncomfortable, then why doesn’t he say no? _Just say it, Tony. Tell them you aren’t interested, that you changed your mind. They won’t care, you won’t be letting anyone down_. They can easily find someone by Sunday. What if they’re busy Sunday? What if they specifically asked for Saturday because that was the only time they were available? It’s tomorrow, that wouldn’t be fair of Tony to do to them, would it?

 

Fine. It also isn’t that hard to admit that it isn’t the worst thing in the world. Tony just doesn’t want to be _that_ person. The guy that was also easily swept off his feet and got in bed with the hot couple. He knows of their sexcapades, heard plenty, but prided in the fact that he never cared, and was never thirsty, looking for more information. He minded his own business. And now he’s going to be one of their stories; the ones that always mysteriously got around. Maybe this time it won’t, since Tony might be the only person that will keep their mouth shut after a night with the men.

 

Plus, he’s human. Very curious, and extremely liable to succumb to temptation. Much like Tony is doing now.

 

To: Bucky

Sorry for the late reply but sure. See you tomorrow if you two are still interested

 

He forces himself to only re-read it once, and then he sends. He snuggles into bed and pretends that he doesn’t care. He _doesn’t_ care. Why should he? It would be one night. What’s the worst that could happen? Tony’s suddenly struck with everything that could go wrong.

 

Okay, no, not now Tony. Sure, yes, there’s lots that can go wrong but...it’s Steve. He wouldn’t let anything happen. Maybe Tony should let someone know. He doesn’t need to add in details, just let someone (besides Natasha...and Sam...and probably Pepper) know where he’s going. For dinner. Yeah. He could nonchalantly tell Rhodey that he’s going to be over at Steve’s for dinner. That should be fine.

 

He hears his phone buzz back, but he squeezes his eyes shut. Ignore. He isn’t desperate. He never wanted to be a part of this. He’ll sleep it off, and read it in the morning.

 

 

 

 

Pathetically, the first thing he looks at when he wakes up is the text message.

 

From: Bucky

Cool. Steve told me your clean. You can come over at ten

 

Tony’s shoulders slump. A part of him feels like he should be more excited. He’s a dude, about to fuck two other dudes. He should feel at least a little horny at the thought. Perhaps he’s still trying to wrap his mind around this. It’s hard to imagine, mostly because it’s easier not to picture a face when he’s mostly texting about it. There was yesterday with Steve of course, but he got distracted when he was insulted. Vanilla? Why would Steve even be thinking about Tony’s sex life?

 

Gah, there Tony goes again, blushing as if Steve actually cares for him. It’s just sex. He’s done this plenty of times. Sex is good. Fun. He can back out whenever he wants. But he should also be fun. They chose him, so he should try a little. Be worth all the trouble.

 

When he goes into work, he’s reminded that it’s just another day. Everyone doesn’t know what’s going to happen later today, everyone is minding their own damn business, working hard to get out of here early. Tony isn’t sure if he’s thankful that he’ll be going home a good few hours before he has to drive over to Steve’s. He can prepare himself, but he can also spend the entire time wanting to back out. Either or.

 

He logs into his computer, trying to get as much work done as he can so that he won’t have to do much tomorrow. Because he knows for sure that tomorrow he’ll be too busy wondering if what the hell he did was worth it or not.

 

He works for a few hours, his eyes burning and fingers cramping by the time it hits noon. He stretches languidly in his chair, sighing pleasantly when everything pops the way it should. He rubs his head, knowing that his hair will be sticking up but not caring. There’s no one to impress here anyway. He turns his head, hoping to crack his neck a bit more before he catches Steve’s eye. He freezes, immediately straightening up and typing nonsense. Oh God he’s acting like a child! He turns his head to the right, just to see if Steve is still looking at him. He slumps when he doesn’t see Steve anywhere in sight. Great. How is he supposed to have sex with the man, and his _boyfriend_ , tonight if he can’t even look at him?

 

“Tony?”

 

He whips to his left, and standing all high and mighty is none other than Steve himself, looking just as relaxed as he did yesterday. Is it only Tony feeling so tense lately?

 

“Oh, hey. Hey. It’s lunch time, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes.” Steve looks around, and he enters into Tony’s little cubicle fully, leaning against his tiny desk. He crosses his arms, watching Tony intently. Tony tries to keep eye contact, but he keeps looking back at his computer, and Steve sighs. “I don’t want this to make us weird. I would never have let Bucky ask you if I knew how uncomfortable it’d make you.”

 

Tony quickly shakes his head. “No, I’m fine. It’s fine. I’m not _fragile_. A simple question isn’t going to break me.”

 

“You’re absolutely positive?”

 

Tony glares. “You’re purposely insulting me, aren’t you? I think _you’re_ the one with the problem.”

 

“I’m fine with you being there,” Steve says honestly. Tony fights off a blush. Pitiful. “Sorry, I’m just not used to the people we ask being so...”

 

“Not eager? I’m not going to suddenly be your best friend.” At least that’s what Tony keeps telling himself. He won’t let this change them. They’ll quickly go back to normal in no time. He’s positive. Back to being just good work pals.

 

“...skittish. If you’re nervous, I’m nervous.”

 

Tony lifts his hands, as if surrendering, shaking his head. “Not nervous.”

 

Steve lifts a brow, but quickly enough he nods, unfolding his arms. “Alright. I believe you. See you tonight.”

 

He walks out, patting Tony’s shoulder as he leaves. Tony stays perfectly still for five seconds, making sure Steve’s gone, and then he shudders, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

 

He lifts his hand, and he tries not to notice that it’s shaking.

 

 

 

 

Four more hours before he has to leave. He’s eating dinner all alone in his tiny apartment, remembering that maybe he does need to start looking into a relationship. He can’t spend the rest of his life alone like this, waiting for a threesome with another couple for Pete’s sake. Maybe that’s the real reason he couldn’t say no: he’s lonely. He hasn’t had sex in months. Of course there’s also the fact that both men are extremely attractive. That’s an added plus.

 

What should he do to pass the time? He isn’t sure he can eat his dinner any slower. He shouldn’t eat too much, right? No, it’s in four hours, he’s got more than enough time to munch and then get it out of his system. Lots of water too, maybe. How long would this last? He can’t help but remember what Natasha said, five flipping hours. There’s no way Tony would be able to last that long. He also knows that they can get pretty rough, what with the way Sam looked when he mentioned the bruises on Bucky. Is Steve the violent one? He never would have thought Steve would even be into that kind of stuff.

 

Work. He’ll spend the rest of the time finishing off the papers he didn’t during the day. He’ll set his alarm for an hour before eleven, so that he can quickly take a shower and get ready. See? Great plan. Tony’s always got a solution.

 

Three hours later Tony feels mentally exhausted; perhaps too exhausted to stay up another hour, let alone more than that. Still, he forces himself to take a shower, and when he’s out he’s only a little thankful that he feels more awake. He fiddles with his toothbrush, watching the clock change from nine thirty four to nine thirty five. It’s getting too close now. To think he ever thought _yesterday_ it was too close.

 

He’s as clean as he can be by nine forty seven, and he’s on his way out with lube and a condom. He’s positive they have their own, but he brings it anyway. Safety and all that Jazz. When he’s in his car and driving he drums his fingers against the wheel, bobbing his head along to music he doesn’t know. He’s fine. He isn’t nervous. If he’s nervous, then Steve’s nervous, and if they’re both nervous then Bucky might get nervous and then the whole thing will crumble. He’ll ruin their night. He can’t do that.

 

He accidentally misses a turn and ends up going the long way to Steve’s house. He finds he doesn’t exactly mind that he’ll be four minutes late.

 

He parks at the side of their house. When he turns the engine off, he sits there, contemplating if maybe he should just go home. Their house looks like any other one on this street, but Tony feels as if it screams sex dungeon. Like everyone in this street knows that the couple here have crazy sex marathons every damn night. Tony doesn’t know what he’d do if he had neighbors like them.

 

His phone buzzes, and he jumps back into the present. He looks at their door, but no one is peeking out and looking for Tony. He searches for his phone, almost dropping it when he finds it, but his shoulders slump when he see’s that it’s from Rhodey.

 

From: Rhodey Bear

Hey wanna come over and have some drinks. Sam and Clint are over

 

Shit. Perfect timing. He looks back at the house, still no one looking for him, and he bites his lip. _Come on, Tony. Just get it over with. Get your freak on. You’ll finally see Steve naked_.

 

That kicks his brain into gear, and he shakes his nerves off. He sends a simple text, saying something about maybe next weekend, before climbing out of his vehicle and locking the damn thing. He does an almost walk of shame towards the house, but that shouldn’t even be possible because he isn’t leaving. He’s barely arrived.

 

He shakes off the nerves one more time before knocking. He rolls his neck afterwards, taking a few deep breathes to calm himself down. It’s all good.

 

It takes about a minute for someone to finally open the door, and it’s Bucky, covering most of his body, his flushed face peeking through the door. He breathes a sigh a of relief when he see’s that it’s Tony.

 

“Thank fuck. Come in, we were just getting started.”

 

Tony blinks multiple times. Oh. Okay. So it’s going to be like this. He didn’t realize how quick it was—

 

“Well?” Bucky asks, widening the door, still hiding the rest of his body. “Come in! We don’t wanna keep him waiting.”

 

He hurries in, and Bucky closes the door quickly. Tony turns to look at Bucky. Immediately he turns red, almost choking on his saliva when he see’s that Bucky is already naked, sweating, but not hard. What? He has hickey’s all over him, and what looks like drying cum all over his chest. Did they start and finish without him? Should he be thankful for that? But he swears he’s only ten minutes late, if even.

 

“Are you okay?” He asks, even though it’s far from what he really wants to ask.

 

Bucky hesitates, and then nods. “What? Yeah, sorry, we usually start early. Just to take the edge off. Come on.”

 

He walks off further into the house, where Tony knows their bedroom is. He’s only been in there once or twice, usually to use the bathroom or something. He follows Bucky, because there’s nothing else to do.

 

It gets darker the further into the house they go. Their bedroom door is wide open, and right away Tony smells the heavy musk of sweat and sex. It’s warm already, and he forces himself to walk inside the moment Bucky does.

 

It’s mostly dark, but the moon illuminates a lot, seeing as they left their blinds up. His eyes immediately go to Steve, as much as he’d rather survey the room first. He’s half hard in a few seconds, because Steve has his hands tied above his head, not attached to anything, so it’s clear that he’s purposely in that position. He’s sweating a lot, Tony can see it glistening on his skin, and he’s quivering, light moans coming out here and there. Tony’s eyes rake his body, and he notices some _thing_ on Steve’s (very red, very wet) cock, his member so hard it almost looks painful. There’s a light sound in the background, only heard when Steve isn’t moaning, and Tony can’t help but think that it sounds like an electric toothbrush.

 

Steve opens his eyes, and then he gives a small smile when he notices Tony.

 

“Mm—hey, Tony. G-glad you made it.” Steve thrusts up a bit, giving out a small cry. Tony blinks multiple times, knowing for sure that this will forever be ingrained in his mind. And would you look at that? He’s hard already.

 

Bucky nudges him, tired of standing and only watching.

 

“Take your clothes off,” Bucky says, and then he squints. “Unless you want to keep them on.”

 

Tony nods, taking off his sweater, and then his shirt. Once Bucky is confident that Tony will finish, he climbs into bed with Steve, giving him a long, filthy kiss.

 

Tony swallows a lump in his throat, unbuckling his pants. See? It actually isn’t that bad right now. He’s already got the naked part over with, and it seems like most of the sex. He isn’t sure why they invited him, but honestly? He isn’t complaining. This is enough to keep him going for a good three months, at the least. Just this image, right there.

 

Once he’s completely naked, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Bucky is already blowing Steve, the man moaning in what could either be absolute ecstasy or pain. Both, possibly. He stays still, standing, until a few good seconds pass by and Bucky pops off, turning to give Tony an annoyed look.

 

“You’re not just gonna watch. Are you?” He asks skeptically, and the way he says it makes it sound like he’s gone through this before. Good news is, Tony isn’t going to let him down.

 

“Ah—no, sorry. I’ll, um.” Tony walks closer, his thighs hitting the bed. Bucky continues to watch him, so he slowly climbs in, crawling towards the two. They have a large bed, Tony notes. Probably for this exact reason. Bucky releases Steve, beckoning Tony.

 

“You can blow him,” Bucky says, and before Tony can say anything Bucky’s already started abusing Steve’s nipples, the man whining loudly and raising his chest. Tony watches, mesmerized. He catches himself, however, and gets on to being told what to do.

 

He isn’t sure if he likes how fast this is going. Out of all the scenarios he thought of, this isn’t close to any of them. It never crossed his mind that they would bother getting started without him. He still isn’t sure if he’s offended by that or not, either.

 

He licks his lips, softly grabbing Steve’s member. It’s slick, with both saliva and lube. He furrows his brows when there’s vibrations, and then it clicks: the thing on Steve is vibrating. Fuck. How is Steve handling this? How is he still hard? Is this what this tight device does? Keeps Steve from coming? Steve is so damn hard, veins popping up everywhere. He’s so red, and wet, and Tony licks his lips again, and thinks to hell with it, and takes the tip into his mouth.

 

Steve hisses, thrusting his hips up again. Tony ignores whatever Bucky is doing, and focuses on his own job. He rubs his tongue along Steve’s head, sucking unconsciously because of all the liquids. He lets his lips feel around, softly going up and down. Steve tastes of many things at the moment, so he doesn’t concentrate on that. He concentrates on the feel of him; hot, hard, heavy on Tony’s tongue. The cock twitches in his mouth, and he gives in, going lower. Distantly he hears Steve groan again, but who knows if it’s from Tony or Bucky.

 

Tony spends his time. Why not? He’ll probably only do this once, might as well make the most of it. His head has already gone to mush, and he honestly has no idea what his thoughts will be in the morning. A part of him is glad he was forced to jump into it, getting to this part was quicker and a lot easier because of it.

 

He lets his hands roam, his fingertips catching every bump in Steve’s member. Tony pulls Steve’s skin down, his mouth going the same direction. He does the same going up, and he makes sure to suck as good as he can, because even if the groans don’t happen to be for him, they make him eager to please.

 

“You like that, Steve?” He hears Bucky say, his voice oddly sweet. “Huh? Look at him, Steve, he’s sucking you off. You like that? Tony between your legs? Look at Tony. Look at how much he’s enjoying this.”

 

Tony tenses for a second. He doesn’t know what to do with the sudden attention. Some would probably pop off, smile and put on an added show, but Tony doesn’t think he has enough courage for that.

 

“Fuck,” Steve says, the sound coming deep from within his chest. He shifts, his hips twisting, and Tony follows the movement, not wanting Steve’s cock to pop out of his mouth just yet. “Fuuuck. Shit. Tony.”

 

Someone shifts on the bed, and then Bucky’s next to him, and Tony immediately lets go, and he realizes that Bucky’s head is underneath his, licking the bottom half of Steve’s shaft. He decides to keep going, figuring that‘s what Bucky had in mind.

 

At time’s their tongues over lapped around Steve’s cock, the feel of Bucky’s slick tongue colliding with his sending a spark of pleasure every time. They’re both mouthing around Steve’s head, and suddenly Bucky is grabbing him and stealing a kiss.

 

His mouth is wet and warm, and he uses a lot of tongue. Tony tries to keep up, but Bucky lets go of him not too long after.

 

“You wanna ride him?” Bucky asks, his voice husky and eyes glassy. Tony swallows again, and he quickly regrets not prepping himself at all. What was he thinking? Not at all, apparently, because he’s such a dumbass. He isn’t sure if they’re going to like having to wait for Tony to be ready. Plus, Tony hasn’t been fucked in months. Steve is...huge, to put it simply. He’s not going to be able to ride Steve tonight.

 

He doesn’t say anything, but Bucky seems to get the memo.

 

“I’ll ride him for a bit,” he says. “Go grab the dildo over there. Fuck him with it.”

 

Tony has to process this. Steve and Bucky are back to making out, but Tony is still stuck in place. How is Steve going to handle so much stimulation? He has the vibrator thing already on, and he’s going to fuck Bucky, and on top of that Tony’s going to shove a dildo up his ass? How crazy are they really?

 

But they both look so delicious together, so Tony can’t exactly complain or question right now. He’ll do it later, in his own time.

 

He reaches over and grabs a very small dildo, surprisingly already lubed up. He frowns, confused, but then he hears Bucky groaning, and when he turns his head he watches as Bucky begins to ride Steve, balls slapping and everything. He looks for lube anyway, just to make sure it’s slick enough. He leaves the two alone, their gasps and moans very distracting. He eventually finds lube in a drawer, and he takes it with him.

 

Steve has his legs spread open, but even from here it seems it would be an awkward fit. The dildo is small, he reminds himself; that’s probably for this exact reason. He decides to spread Steve’s cheeks, and Steve shifts, spreading his legs wider. Tony lubes up a finger, his heart racing, and slowly inserts the digit. There isn’t as much resistance as he thought there would be, and it slides in easily. He can hear Bucky gasping, but he keeps a good pace, riding Steve energetically. Tony adds in a second, and he twists, hoping to get something right, when Steve groans loudly.

 

“Yeah,” He hears Bucky say, out of breath. “Keep going. Give it to him, Tony.”

 

Tony adds a third, spreading his fingers, trying to hurry up while also making sure Steve is prepped enough. The dildo isn’t all that much bigger than his three fingers, luckily, so he’s quick to pull them out and shove the toy in.

 

“Yes,” he hears Steve whine, and he watches in amazement as Steve’s toes begin to curl. “Yes, fuck, more.”

 

“Don’t worry baby,” Bucky replies, grinding onto Steve. Tony feels like he’s imposing. He slowly fucks Steve, unsure if they even remember that he’s here. “You’re almost there. Come on.”

 

Tony watches Steve’s dick disappear into Bucky’s ass, almost like a trance. It isn’t anything especially arousing, maybe because he doesn’t know what to do. He moves the dildo around, shoves it in and out, but he feels like he’s doing very little. At least he gets the mental image of Steve being completely debauched.

 

“Almost there?” Bucky asks a few seconds later, and when Steve gasps in response Bucky abruptly pops off, turning to a blinking Tony.

 

“Rub off on him,” Bucky says, and Tony’s movements stutter, the small toy half way in.

 

“What?”

 

Bucky pecks Tony, gently prying his fingers off. Tony backs away, confused.

 

“Get on top of him. I’ll fuck him back here.”

 

Bucky removes the dildo, and when Tony’s eyes snap to Steve’s face, the man is already looking at him. But then his face screws shut, and he’s moaning when Bucky starts to fuck him. Oh. Literally. When did Bucky get hard?

 

Tony’s hands begin to shake as he makes his way on top of Steve, the blond breathing hard from underneath him. He’s still hard, of course he is, but he keeps a respectable distance between their dicks. It’s a weird position to be in, especially with Steve getting slammed right underneath him.

 

Steve is sweating a lot. His hair is sticking to his head, and his neck and chest are glistening beautifully underneath the moonlight. Tony wants to kiss him, but he resists doing so, unsure if he‘s allowed to.

 

“Touch me,” Steve mumbles, mostly breath coming out. Was it for Tony? “Fuck. I’m close.”

 

Tony blinks, and then he slowly brings his hips down, pressing his dick on top of Steve’s. It’s awkward from here, and he needs to move, wrap a hand around them, but Steve starts to move underneath him, thrusting his hips up when Bucky slams into him fully, and Steve moans.

 

“Come on Tony,” Steve says, and then he’s lifting his head up to Tony’s, his tied hands obediently remaining above him. He licks Tony’s cheek, his mouth wet, and when he breathes it leaves Tony’s skin feeling hot and cold. “Touch me. Please.”

 

Tony swallows hard, and he begins to grind, aligning their dicks together with his hand. He’s slow at first, the pressure good and exactly what he needed, since he hasn’t touched himself at all. His cock jumps when he catches Steve’s face, his mouth open in pleasure. He gets more confident, and then he grinds harder, faster, the pressure building. He can hear Bucky fucking Steve, their gasps. He can feel Steve’s puffs of exhaustion on the side of his face, and he chases after his orgasm, unrelenting as he presses himself fully on top of Steve.

 

He keeps his head near Steve’s neck, but he doesn’t taste him. He doesn’t kiss him. Nothing. He tries to catch his breath, and the moment he feels himself going over the edge he lets go of their shafts, twisting his hips into little circles, his cock head catching at the bottom of Steve’s and he comes, jumping, shuddering, his eyes closed.

 

Steve whines, low in his throat, as Tony lazily moves his hips, and suddenly Steve is convulsing, moaning profusely.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky says from behind him. “Fuck yeah. You did it, huh Steve? You liked that? Having Tony frot you?”

 

Steve whimpers in response.

 

Tony falls next to him, wiping at his forehead. He guesses it wasn’t that bad. Perhaps a little quick for his taste, but for whatever reason they started without him, so it shouldn’t be all that much of a surprise. He tries not to be offended by it; it’s reasonable, when one puts it into perspective. Tony is kinda boring, never showed too much enthusiasm, and over all was just an extra set of hands to fool around with.

 

Tony blinks over at Bucky, and to his surprise the brunet looks completely spent. He can barely keep his eyes open, and from what Tony can tell, he hasn’t even come, instead opted to pull out and let his dick soften. Tony could have helped; it’s part of the damn reason he’s here, but Bucky does look extremely exhausted, so he lets it slide. One less thing to feel hurt about, at the very least.

 

He turns his head to see Steve biting at the rope on his hands, untying it. Subconsciously he grabs Steve’s wrists, undoing the rope himself. He doesn’t look at the blond at all.

 

“Thanks,” he hears Steve mumble tiredly. Tony nods, throwing the rope somewhere onto the floor.

 

Usually if it’s late out and he and his partner are exhausted, he’d stay the night, or let them if they were at his own place. He isn’t sure if he’s invited to stay the night, and he isn’t exhausted enough to just pass out right now and ignore the awkward falling asleep together phase. However, Bucky slumps behind him, and with the light from the room, in a matter of seconds both of the men are lightly snoring, knocked out.

 

He’s...disappointed, to be completely honest. It’s not that he wanted to spend five hours with these two, but it would have been better than the twenty minutes they just had. It’s weird seeing how dead they look as well. Did they spend hours going at it before Tony came? If so, how come? Did they really think Tony wouldn’t last? Sure, he got off on Steve quickly, but Bucky told him to. He chased after his orgasm, didn’t hold back, willed it to arrive. Are they now going to think he can’t last long from now on?

 

He stares off, blinking slowly. He guesses it doesn’t matter, seeing as he wasn’t excited to do this in the first place. It happened, it’s over, it wasn’t as exciting as everyone set it out to be—Tony can go to sleep, leave them in the morning.

 

Tomorrow will be as if this never happened.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I think I’m gonna do something with this now! Hopefully you guys like the second chapter! Sorry for any mistakes!

“—you later.”

 

“Yeah. Love you. Bye.”

 

There’s shuffling, and then the sound of lips pecking, and footsteps walking away. Tony furrows his brows, burrowing further into pillows and warm blankets. He’s about to pass out again when he hears, “Hey, don’t get too comfortable, I’ve got breakfast ready.”

 

He curls his lip in annoyance, opening his eyes. He blinks, the whispers of a dream quickly being forgotten. It smells different here, and it’s cold where the blanket isn’t. One of the windows must be open, because there’s a nice breeze too. He—right, he isn’t home. He’s at Steve’s house.

 

“Ah,” he says, quickly sitting up. He looks down, and then hugs the blankets closer to himself, remembering that he’s still naked. He tries to blink away the glossiness of everything, his eyes still unadjusted, and he looks in the direction of where Steve’s at. “Sorry—I, I didn’t mean to sleep in. I’m leaving now.”

 

Tony begins to move, still half asleep, and he starts to bring the blanket with him when Steve walks forward and grabs his arm.

 

“No, hey, I wasn’t kicking you out. Let’s have some breakfast, rest for a bit.”

 

He lets go, Tony watching as Steve reaches into his closet and pulls out a pair of loose shorts. He tosses them, the piece of clothing hitting Tony right in the face.

 

“Here, you can wear these if you want. Your clothes are in the washing machine. See you in the kitchen.”

 

Once Steve closes his bedroom door Tony rubs his eyes, everything coming back to him. He slumps, unsure of how to deal with this. Should he stay for breakfast? Is Steve just trying to be kind? In reality he could be hoping that Tony will reject his offer and leave. That does seem like a Steve thing to do, so Tony is stuck with whether or not he should bother contemplating. Then again, Steve is washing his clothes. Why would he do that if he wanted Tony to leave so bad? Ah, there’s the optimism. Unfortunately, that’s also a Steve thing to do. Be nice, even if he doesn’t want to. Fuck.

 

He throws the blanket off, looking down at his lap in disappointment. He glares at his limp length, pathetic against his thigh. It’s this thing’s fault; it’s more than two thirds of the reason why Tony always ends up in these situations. The damn thing does have a head of its own.

 

He puts the shorts on, hopping off the bed. He see’s his shoes in the corner of his room, but there’s no socks in sight, so he leaves them, opening the door and walking out of his sanctuary. Now he’s treading dangerous waters, unsure of what’s to come next. He follows his nose, the smell of bacon and eggs heavy in the house. It doesn’t take long to find the kitchen. Unsurprisingly, there’s a plate ready for him on the table, warm with orange juice and all that good stuff. Domestic, is what comes to mind.

 

Wrong. Very wrong to think about. Steve isn’t his, and never will be.

 

Tony sits down, eagerly taking a bite. He chews, testing, and once he realizes it isn’t terrible, he digs in, gulping down his orange juice as an afterthought when his throat gets dry.

 

He watches as a chair gets pulled out across him, Steve sitting with a plate of his own. He offers a small smile, but Tony only looks down at his food, eating away. The sooner he gets done with this, the sooner he can leave.

 

“Did you get a good nights sleep?” Steve asks as a conversation starter. Tony shrugs.

 

“Sure. Dead asleep the whole night,” he mumbles around a mouthful of food. He drinks some more juice. Why does his throat feel so dry?

 

Steve nods loosely. Tony takes a moment to glance at him, see’s his friend looking thoughtful, and he holds in a sigh. He doesn’t know what to say. What can he say? What can they possibly talk about over breakfast? Tony just wants to get out of here and forget the whole thing. It wasn’t even worth it.

 

“Did you enjoy last night then?”

 

Tony squeezes his lips together, his fork clattering against his plate.

 

“Why me?” He asks, frustration leaking through. He licks at his teeth, finishing off the rest of his eggs. He holds his hands up, open, giving Steve a chance to be completely honest. “I don’t get it. Out of everybody you two know, why—?”

 

“Why not?” Steve asks casually, swinging his egg filled fork around. “I don’t know. I thought you said it didn’t bother you?” He asks, and Tony doesn’t know why but watching Steve put some fucking eggs in his mouth pisses him the fuck off.

 

“So, what, you two were just sitting around, watching TV and one of you said, ‘hey, wouldn’t it be cool if we had a threesome with Tony?’ Just a random thought that somehow escalated to last night?”

 

Steve chews slowly, his jaw working. Tony watches impatiently, leaning back with his arms crossed. He tries not to feel bad about only eating half of what’s on his plate.

 

“If you’re looking for something more exciting than that, then you’re better off using your own imagination,” Steve says in response, trying (and epically failing) at looking sympathetic. “But in the end it was up to you, Tony. I don’t know why you’re trying to pick a fight.”

 

“I’m not _trying_  to pick a fight,” Tony grits, rubbing his cheek. What IS he doing? He’s just...maybe a little hurt at the fact that they started without him? That he might have feelings for Steve and he ended up being disappointed and still, annoyingly, pining after the guy? In his and his boyfriends house? “I’m...disappointed.”

 

Steve makes a face, and then he coughs, backing away from his food. “ _What_?”

 

Tony refrains from tilting his head in curiosity. That was an interesting reaction. One that’s undoubtedly reasonable, but for whatever reason he never imagined _that_  type of reaction; if Tony didn’t know any better, he’d think Steve was...wow.

 

“Are you...offended?” Tony asks, reeling inside. This is definitely new. Tony feels even a bit prideful; he’s probably their only conquest that has ever felt this way, and if Tony’s smart, he’ll bask in this and wring it out for as long as he can. This is good, this is new. Fun. _Real_  fun.

 

Steve nibbles on his lip for a second, Tony’s eyes guiltily set on the cherry redness of it, until Steve shakes his head.

 

“No. Well, surprised, but not—disappointed? How are _you_  disappointed? That isn’t—I’ve never—“

 

“Calm down, Rogers. It happens. Nothing to be ashamed about,” Tony says, pretending to shrug it off. This is priceless. He’s never seen Steve so flustered. It’s different. He’s so used to seeing a calm, collected, gentle man who likes to laugh at Tony’s jokes. But this is different. Throwing Steve off balance? Now that is quite a feat.

 

“I’m not ashamed,” Steve snaps, and Tony almost beams at him. He has to bite his cheeks to prevent from doing so. “But fine. You were disappointed. I don’t think there’s much you can compare it to anyway, but sure. I’d say I felt the same.”

 

Well that was uncalled for. He really hit a nerve there, didn’t he? He ignores the comparison comment with a wave of his hand.

 

“You felt the same?” Tony asks, and his mind goes back to last night, literally, remembering the exact way it felt to grind against Steve. What did Bucky say? Frot? Their cocks sliding against each other, unrelenting as he chased after a finish. He reaches for his orange juice, his throat doing that dry thing again. He must have a condition. “It didn’t seem like it last night. I think you were begging for more, actually.”

 

Tony let’s a smirk slip out, taking the drink to his mouth. Steve’s cheeks turn red, and it goes down to his neck, and underneath his shirt. Tony’s eyes snap back to the counter behind Steve, reminding himself that he _only_  has a pair of shorts on. Last night is done and over with, no need to get excited.

 

“That...wasn’t from you,” Steve says smoothly, but his throat must be dry as well, because it still comes out a bit raspy. “Bucky and I—we...I was on edge for awhile. You were just an extra pair of hands.”

 

There you have it, Tony. Steve doesn’t care. Get the damn hint, say thanks for everything, and get the hell out. It isn’t hard.

 

If only Tony’s ego wasn’t so hard to fight off. It’s all his Dad’s fault, he knows that for sure.

 

“You don’t think I can make you beg?” Tony asks. It isn’t exactly meant to be a challenge, more like an innocent question, but it still hurts when Steve literally chuckles. He’s laughing at Tony, like he’s naive. Like the thought alone is so unlikely it’s funny.

 

“No,” Steve says, smiling. “It takes a lot to satisfy me. You alone won’t be able to do anything.”

 

And that...sounds so much like an invitation to prove him wrong, but it isn’t. It fucking isn’t and Tony needs to get out of here and finish those damn papers before tomorrow. Steve’s so not interested, even revealing that Tony really was just an extra pair of hands (and a dick). Tony’s going to say something he’ll regret, and even though he knows there’s probably no coming back to what they used to be (mostly going to be his fault, honestly. He can’t look at Steve the same anymore), he can at least leave on good terms.

 

“I...” he takes a breath, calming himself down. Steve’s watching, almost at the edge of his seat, waiting, though he’s purposely keeping his expression passive. Tony catches his eye, holding it. “...think I should grab my clothes.”

 

Steve looks down, and Tony wants to shake him. Why does he have to look so attractive? Tony knew what he was getting into. Tony knew Steve was always so far away, out of reach, and he did this to his fucking self. He was stupid to think this crush would go away after seeing Steve naked. It only grew, growing into a full blown ‘I really, really fucking like you’ rather than a plain infatuation with the man.

 

“Oh. I’ll put them in the dryer real quick. You can...finish breakfast. I’ll be right back.”

 

Tony drums his fingers along the small table. It’s a table for four. Perfect for only a couple. Bucky and Steve have been together for years, from what he’s gathered from the past. They were best friends before that. It was always them together, never apart. They can add, exclude whoever they want, but they’re like two peas in a pod. They’re inseparable. But what does Tony want? For Steve to like him back? It isn’t _that_. He doesn’t want Steve in any way, shape, or form. He doesn’t like that he finds Steve attractive, that’s about it. It’s hard to ignore a literal Greek god that’s around you most of the time, even harder when you just had sex with said god. No. What Tony likes is a good personality, and for that person of interest to be, hm, _single_  maybe? He doesn’t like home wreckers, and no way in hell will he be one as well.

 

Steve comes back, and Tony feels guilty again that he hasn’t finished his food, but he suddenly isn’t very hungry, and in all honesty he’s ready to leave with just theseshorts and his shoes. He can pick up his clothes later, or have Steve drop them off.

 

“Your clothes should be dry in twenty or so minutes,” Steve says, taking his dishes to the sink. Tony follows him. “You can take a shower if you’d like.”

 

Now they’re back to being overly formal. Tony thinks he made everything worse. Why does he always have to open his damn mouth? Truth be told, he can’t put the entire blame on himself. If only his name never popped up in either of the guys’ heads he wouldn’t even be in this predicament. Oh, how life does work in mysterious ways.

 

“Sure,” Tony hears himself saying, and he has to fight off the surprise. Steve nods, leading him towards an extra bathroom that they have in the house. Obviously not the one he and Bucky use. That’s good.

 

“There should be shampoo, body wash and conditioner. We...,” Steve clears his throat, crossing his arms, “...frequently have guests over. Towels are under the sink.”

 

He leaves, not waiting for a response. Tony closes the door, his phone coming to mind when he wonders how he’s going to spend as much time as possible in here. He isn’t sure where his phone is, but it obviously isn’t with him.

 

He takes a quick shower anyway. Everything in there is generic, no special brands or anything. Nothing smells especially good either, and he’s out in five minutes. He towels off, wrapping it around his waist. Should he just walk out like this? Or maybe he can wait until Steve knocks on his door, but that would take too long. There’s also the shorts, but he already had those on, and he doesn’t feel like wearing something of Steve’s, or Bucky’s, whoever the hell it belongs to.

 

He walks out, making sure the towel is tightly wrapped, before heading for the kitchen. Who knows if Steve is in there, but it’s better than looking for the guy in his bedroom. He doesn’t want to seem weird; at least, weirder than he already is.

 

Steve isn’t in the kitchen, or the living room. He sits on the couch with his chin on his palm, unsure of what to do. Maybe Steve is also taking a shower.

 

Why doesn’t Steve think that Tony can satisfy him? Even if he was offended, that’s a pretty rude thing to say—ruder than Tony’s ‘disappointed’ comment. Or perhaps he’s just being a baby about it, who says it isn’t the same? He basically implied that he wasn’t satisfied either. Still. The way Steve looked, the way he said it, it seemed like he really meant it. He knew, without a doubt in his mind, that Tony wouldn’t be able to satisfy him. That doesn’t make any sense. And is it true that he and Bucky were at it hours before Tony arrived? If so, why bother inviting Tony in the first place? It doesn’t seem very fair. Why does everyone else always leave so euphoric? As if they literally came down from heaven? What Tony experienced last night—that was mediocre at best, and Tony isn’t trying to be rude, it just _was_.

 

He stares at a blank TV screen for fifteen minutes, before Steve comes back with his folded clothes and shoes.

 

“Here,” Steve says, plopping them onto Tony’s lap. “You can change in the bathroom.”

 

He leaves Tony again, and Tony starts to believe that maybe it’s the both of them making this worse.

 

He changes as quickly as he can, and he shudders at the warmth of his clothes, it feels good having the heat caress him like this; snug against his body. He ties his shoelaces, and once he’s done he realizes he still has to look for Steve in order to get his phone and his keys. He ignores their bedroom entirely for the second time, and he feels a bit letdown when he see’s his stuff on the kitchen table. Great. So this is how it’s going to be. Seriously, Tony should have just kept his stupid mouth shut.

 

He leaves without a goodbye, partially pissed and confused, but mostly unsurprised. He knew it would be like this, that it would ruin everything. Seeing and touching Steve’s dick didn’t fix anything.

 

He should have just accepted Rhodey’s offer the night before. He would have escaped all of this. In fact, he should text his best friend now. Maybe they can do something later tonight.

 

He sits in his old car, looking through his texts, and then he see’s his and Rhodey’s text messages. Apparently Rhodey texted him back already.

 

From: Rhodey Bear

Dude next week is Natasha’s birthday. Saturday night, surprise party ring any bells? Sunday I’m visiting ma

 

Tony throws his head back. He forgot about the surprise party for Natasha. Clint and Bucky planned it all, both of them apparently really good friends of hers. He doesn’t understand how she can stand Clint, but anyways that isn’t the point. He needs to figure out what he’s getting for the woman, and how he’s going to handle being in the same room with the two apparent sex kings next weekend. Why is this suddenly his life?

 

To: Rhodey Bear

Got any plans tonight? You can come over if u want

 

He looks back at Steve’s house, the curtains open, letting the sun in. No one is inside, or that’s what it looks like, but Steve’s in there, as if hiding. Tony takes a deep breath in, then lets it out slowly. This isn’t the biggest mistake he’s ever made. This isn’t even in the top ten things Tony regrets. Life isn’t bad, last night wasn’t terrible, life moves on. He’s fine.

 

 

 

He finishes what’s due for work by six pm, and two hours later there’s a knock on his door. He flips through the channels, lazily yelling out, “Come in!” And stopping at some cooking channel. Rhodey likes those.

 

Rhodey comes in, a grocery bag in his hand. He closes and locks the door (a paranoia of his Tony still hasn’t successfully adopted), and sits next to Tony.

 

“So what’s up?” Rhodey asks, but he doesn’t look at Tony, and he’s rustling through the bag and listing off what he brought instead of waiting for a response, “There’s some jerky, nuts, chips, Red Bull. I think I grabbed some Twix but it might’ve been Hershey’s—hey, Jacques Pepin!” Immediately Rhodey is distracted by the TV. Tony smiles down at himself, grateful that his friend is here to distract him.

 

They watch Mister Pepin make something with zucchini and tomatoes for a few minutes, until Tony can’t take it anymore.

 

He reaches for the Doritos, opening the bag and grabbing a handful of chips. Rhodey watches in amusement.

 

“What’d you do last night?” Tony asks, taking a red bull as well. Rhodey sighs, leaning comfortably against the sofa.

 

“Nothing much. The guys stayed until around one. Clint left but Sam stayed the night. What about you?”

 

Tony debates on telling him. It probably always starts out like this, right? Someone tells one person, then suddenly ten more know, and then a blink and bam—everyone knows. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Rhodey but...he doesn’t trust Rhodey. Dammit.

 

“Nothing,” Tony says, staring distastefully down the Dorito’s bag. “Knocked out early. Got some good sleep.”

 

“I need to try that,” Rhodey says to the TV, only half paying attention to Tony. “Hey, record this. I’m gonna have to watch the whole thing one of these days. Oh, I’m thinking of getting Natasha a necklace or something. You think that’s good?”

 

Tony shrugs, stretching. “I don’t know, man. I guess. I think I’m just gonna give her a card, maybe with some flowers. Should be fine.” They stay quiet, and Tony can’t help it. He needs to say his name. Maybe give Rhodey some type of hint. “What do you think about Steve?”

 

“Rogers?” Rhodey asks, scratching his chin. “From work? What about him?”

 

Tony tries to be nonchalant, picking at the loose fabric from his jeans. The jeans that were washed at Steve’s house. Where he spent the night. “What do you think about him? Y’know I heard...stuff, about what he and his boyfriend...do.”

 

Rhodey’s nose scrunches, then he’s shoving a Twix into his mouth. “That Bucky guy? I don’t really pay attention to that shit.”

 

“Me neither,” Tony says. “Just...I don’t know. Do you like him?”

 

“I guess. He’s relaxed, nice. Doesn’t give any trouble.”

 

Tony grinds his teeth together, irritated. “Yeah but—he doesn’t seem a little off to you? At all?” He doesn’t know why he’s asking this. He’s looking for some type of confirmation, a validation, anything to make himself feel better, or make Steve the bad guy, but it isn’t going to work. He’s just waisting time.

 

The conversation about Steve ends soon enough, and before he knows it he’s nodding off, the voice of Paula Deen filling his sense until sleep washes over him.

 

 

 

 

There’s a random alarm going off, and it leaves Tony aggravated enough to sit up, glaring at his surroundings. The sound is coming from the coffee table, Rhodey’s phone blaring. He reaches over and turns it off, looking at the time. It’s six thirty.

 

He stretches, yawning. Why is Rhodey’s phone still here? Did he spend the night? He looks around, and then he hears shuffling further into his apartment. It’s a two bedroom, so Rhodey is probably in the guest one. Figures Rhodey wouldn’t bother to wake Tony and go straight to the blow up mattress he has in there instead. How did he not wake from the noise? He probably was knocked out.

 

Rhodey walks into view, his pants not even buckled and no shoes on. He’s yawning, walking over to grab his phone.

 

“You slept out here all night?” Rhodey asks, his voice deep with sleep. Tony nods, standing up himself. He looks down at his clothes. Should he bother to change? Wait. Yes. Steve would know he wore this. Why should Tony care though?

 

“Yeah, thanks for waking me.” Tony glares, but it isn’t malicious, and he heads for the kitchen. He’s thirsty, his mouth feeling uncomfortable.

 

“I thought you’d get up yourself. Got any fruit loops?”

 

Tony shakes his head, filling a cup with water. He nods towards a cupboard to his right. “Should be some bunches of oats in there. Maybe some Cheerios. Uh, I don’t know if I have milk.” He takes a good few gulps of water, feeling a little more awake and refreshed.

 

“Better have some milk.” He hears Rhodey mutter. It makes him grin.

 

They don’t talk much throughout the morning, and Tony thinks to hell with it and keeps the same clothes on. He didn’t do anything yesterday. Just throw on some deodorant and cologne and he’s good.

 

It takes a little longer than usual for his car to start, embarrassingly he keeps his foot on the gas a couple times, and then his little junk of a car turns on, and Rhodey laughs at him. He leaves a quick note in his head to fix whatever is wrong later.

 

Tony takes Rhodey to work, and on the drive there Rhodey begins to rub his neck, wincing. Tony inwardly smiles; that’s what Rhodey gets for laughing at him.

 

“What?”

 

Rhodey sighs, rolling his head. “That fucking air mattress. I think it did something to my neck. And I didn’t have a pillow.”

 

“I would’ve given you a pillow if you woke me up,” Tony chastises, and Rhodey rolls his eyes.

 

“I should’ve just slept in your bed if I knew you could stay on a couch all night.”

 

Tony shrugs, pulling into work. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

 

They walk in together, doing a quick fist pump before separating. He rests his suitcase onto his desk, preventing a groan when he see’s another stack of papers he needs to work on and finish in two days.

 

It’s hard to concentrate this time. Usually he can work with ease, once he’s got his mind to it, but he’s too distracted. He keeps thinking random things about Steve, Bucky, his own non existent love life. He thinks back to past relationships, than accidentally further back to his terrible years in high school before he groans and covers his eyes with his arm, leaning back into his rolling chair. Steve, Steve, Steve. He’s an okay guy.

 

He should really think about what he’s getting for Natasha. Maybe he should get some chocolates. Women like that shit, right?

 

“Whoa did someone—“

 

Tony growls, gritting out, “Not now Clint.”

 

“Okay I’m just—“

 

“ _Shut up_.”

 

“Ah someone help I think Tony’s having a mental breakdown.”

 

Tony is not having a mental breakdown. No, Clint, this is called being stressed from work and wanting a damn love life. Is that too much to ask for? Less work, more love? Guess so.

 

“Awe.” Tony hears Rhodey say. Great. Now Clint is giving him an audience. “It’s alright Tony, I’m here now. Wanna tell daddy what’s wrong?”

 

“Say that again and I’ll spank you.” Tony inwardly smiles though, when he hears Rhodey laugh at that.

 

“Kinky,” Clint mutters, still fucking here.

 

“Rough night?” Someone asks, and Tony turns his head to see Pepper. He shakes his head, giving Rhodey a look. Clint catches it, and then he covers his wide open mouth with his hand.

 

“Holy shit!” Clint says. Here we go.“You two slept together, didn’t you?”

 

Rhodey snorts. Tony turns red, turning back to his computer. He only ever thought of Rhodey once like that, and he promised himself he would never do so again. Never ever. He needs to distract himself before the unholy thoughts appear. Rhodey can handle this one.

 

“Oh my God,” Pepper says, mimicking Clint. But she believes it. Her tone says it all, and Tony has no idea why Rhodey isn’t saying anything! “Oh my God. Natasha!”

 

“ _No_ ,” Tony says, calling after her as she runs away. “No, no. And...great. Congratulations Rhodey. Everyone’s going to think we fucked in about two minutes.”

 

Rhodey shrugs it off. “So?”

 

Tony glares. “Don’t play with my feelings like that.”

 

Rhodey laughs out loud, having no idea how serious Tony really is. And Clint is _still_  fucking here!

 

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” Tony asks. Clint shrugs, finally walking away. He swears, the guy just likes to start shit. But no one dare do anything to him; like a damn child.

 

Once Clint’s gone, Rhodey leans against his desk, nodding at him.

 

“Seriously, what’s up? You’ve been acting weird since last night.”

 

“Nothing,” Tony says, pursing his lips. It’s true, it really _is_  nothing. What is he going to say? He did it with Steve and Bucky and he’s frustrated that he wasn’t satisfied? Give it a few more days, then it’ll really be nothing. He’s just in shock...or something equivalent. Maybe. Shock? Oh God he’s going crazy.

 

The break is over and Tony begins working again, his hands cramping and eyes burning but he keeps working hard until it starts to reach four. Usually he likes to stay until five or six, but he really isn’t feeling it anymore. But he still has so much to do, so much to worry about, so many damn deadlines...he can do this. Check his email just one more time...

 

He’s in the middle of filling out a form when someone comes up behind him, leaving a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Hey Tony.” It’s Natasha. Her voice is surprisingly soft. He slumps, pulling at his tie uncomfortably.

 

“Yes?” He asks, stifling a yawn.

 

“You doing alright there? You look...”

 

“I’m fine! Why is everybody telling me how fucked up I look? I get it, I look crappy, just leave me be.”

 

“...I think it’s time for you to go home.”

 

“What?” He asks, his right eye twitching. “It’s only four thir...” he trails off, rubbing his eyes hard when he see’s that it’s already seven.

 

“Yeah,” Natasha says quietly. She rubs his shoulder for a second, and then lets go. “You wanna go out? Some of us are heading over to Ronald’s Pizza Parlor right now. Come on. It’s a short walk from here.”

 

He looks back at his unfinished form. Well, he always has tomorrow. Plus, he’s exhausted. Perhaps a night out with some friends wouldn’t be too horrible.

 

He agrees, logging out and packing his suitcase. She tells him that they’ll meet in the parking lot, and Tony takes that time to get out and leave his belongings in his car. He also takes his tie and jacket off, rolling his sleeves up and unbuttoning the first three buttons. He takes a deep breath, feeling a little less wound up.

 

“Tony!” Pepper yells, and he puts his wallet in his pocket, locking his car and walking over to the small group of people. He notices about five figures, and he resists curling his lips in annoyance when he catches Steve’s familiar head of blond hair. Two, in fact. Clint is also here, and he see’s no sight of Rhodey, who must have gone home with someone else. Just wonderful. At least he has Pepper.

 

Natasha and Pepper lead the way, talking amongst themselves. Sam and Steve are engrossed in their own conversation, so that leaves him stuck with Clint. He’s known this guy for well over a year now, and all he can say is that they’ve never gotten along. He and Steve work just fine together, of fucking course because Steve gets along with everyone, but Clint always rubbed him the wrong way.

 

Still. He’ll never say it out loud but Clint has always been able to distract him from whatever problem there is. The _only_   thing good about him.

 

Their conversation is pointless and unusually polite, especially for Clint, and they immediately part ways when they arrive to the pizza parlor. They all sit at a table for six, Tony at the head of the table, and then to the right there’s Pepper, Natasha, Clint across from Tony, Sam, then Steve, and thankfully a chair between Tony and Steve, giving them space.

 

Clint forces Natasha to give her attention to him, and he’s thankful that he has Pepper to talk to.

 

“Hey stranger,” she says, and then she seems to remember something unexpectedly. “When were you going to tell me about Rhodey?”

 

It takes a few seconds for him to know what she’s talking about, and he briefly remembers what happened earlier in the day. He takes that moment to glare at Clint, and then faces her again.

 

“It’s not—a thing,” he says dryly, the words making his mouth feel sour. A waitress comes by, speaking before Pepper can.

 

They all order their drinks, and agree to order their food later. Pepper is quick to go back to their previous conversation.

 

“A thing?” She asks, pensive. “One time then? An accident? Wait—are you two, y’know, f...buddies?”

 

Tony groans, throwing his head back. This is totally not helping keep the promise he made himself. Don’t think of Rhodey naked, don’t think of Rhodey naked.

 

“Can we not talk about this right now?” He asks, irritated. “Go ask Rhodey in your own time.” Especially with Steve right here. It’s not that Tony even thinks that Steve would bother listening in on their conversation, but still. Why would it matter if Steve overheard? That...Tony doesn’t know. But he knows that Steve shouldn’t know. Know about...ah, something that doesn’t exist. Is this what a fried brain feels like? Because it hurts and makes no damn sense.

 

He and Steve have never been the closest of friends. They talked occasionally, but no one who knew them would say that they were anything especially close. Glorified acquaintances, to put it exactly. So of course no one would really notice, especially right away, if Steve and Tony weren’t talking all that much. Still. Watching everyone have their own conversations, eating pizza, not even having a clue why Steve and Tony specifically have this chair in between them; why they haven’t glanced at each other once throughout the hour. Well, he’s stolen a look here and there, but he knows for sure Steve hasn’t looked in his general direction this whole time. This whole day!

 

He starts to wonder, as he’s picking at his fourth slice, if Sam, or Clint, hell—Pepper: if they’ve ever done anything with the two men. Pepper, he highly doubts. He already knows about Natasha’s quote on quote amazing night. Sam...well, the way he complained about the bruises—Tony can easily guess that Sam wouldn’t be interested, and Tony is pretty sure the man already has a girlfriend. He isn’t close enough to know for sure however. Clint...honestly, it can go either way. Yes, no. Occasionally. Clint could’ve been the one to ask _them_  if they’d like a threesome. Who knows.

 

He hangs back this time, when they walk to their parked vehicles. Clint is with Natasha and Pepper, he somehow making the two woman laugh repeatedly. He tries not to feel bitter, but it fails, and he’s left looking like he sucked on a lemon until they reach the office building.

 

He plasters a smile, saying goodbye to Pepper and Natasha as they hug him, and he and Sam say a quick ‘later’. Clint and he glance at each other, and he gives a mock glare as Clint sticks his tongue out, walking away. He hears Natasha saying her own goodbyes to Steve, and he takes this as his cue to leave. No one will notice if they didn’t say goodbye to each other.

 

He goes to his car, starting it up quickly. He just wants to go home and sleep. The piece of junk doesn’t start.

 

“Come on,” Tony mumbles, trying again. He starts to ignition three times, and then it just goes dead. Great. Just great. He gets out, seeing if anyone is around still.

 

A car just drives past him, and he waves after it, yelling. He thinks it’s Natasha’s vehicle, but it leaves, and Tony angrily pulls out his phone. Maybe he can call her and she’ll turn around. He’s ninety percent sure he has jumper cables.

 

He’s looking through his contacts when he hears another car starts, the headlights blinding him. He steps out in front of it, waving about. He lifts a hand to shield his eyes, and someone hops out, closing their door.

 

“Tony? What’s wrong?”

 

This night just keeps getting better and better.

 

“Ah,” he says, forcing the words out. “Ahh my car. It’s—it’s dead. Can you...?”

 

Steve walks over to him, looking concerned. He looks to where Tony is pointing, then nods his head in understanding.

 

“Oh. Got any cables?”

 

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Just—park over there. I’ll get them out.”

 

He walks toward his trunk, and he thanks God when he finds jumper cables tucked away in the back. Steve parks in front of his car, and Tony lifts his hood.

 

Steve mostly stays in his car, as does Tony, and when it’s over Steve climbs out, Tony awkwardly standing and holding his cables. He shuts his hood, turning towards Tony.

 

“Look Tony I really...I don’t want us,” Steve trails off, gesturing between them.

 

Tony nods. “I understand.”

 

He does. Tony doesn’t like the wall between them either, but just because he understands where Steve is getting at doesn’t mean it’s going to get them anywhere. This...is going to take time, because it wasn’t just the sex. _Feelings_  are involved, and Tony needs time to get over this shit.

 

Steve sags, seeming at a loss. “If I knew—If I had known how...the consequences, of what we did, I would never have asked you. I don’t want...I’m sorry. I don’t really know what to say. I’ve never been...in this situation before. I don’t know...where we went wrong.” Steve looks frustrated, and Tony can’t blame him. This is uncharted territory. Tony is familiar with that; he understands the stress that comes with it.

 

“It wasn’t you,” Tony says, and he forces his mouth shut when he almost says the next cliche words. Steve gives him a look and Tony rolls his eyes. “Really. It’s all on me. It just happens sometimes. I’m not saying it was terrible or anything I just...” he shrugs.

 

Steve studies him for awhile, Tony trying really hard not to fidget, and finally Steve backs down with a nod.

 

“I think I get it, actually,” Steve says, and Tony has no idea what he’s talking about, but he’s exhausted and needs to go to bed ASAP. “Let me guess: you had your own agenda huh? Thought it would magically fix something?”

 

If Steve knows how Tony feels then he’s fucking _screwed_. How did he get to that conclusion? Tony’s mouth hangs embarrassingly open, mind searching for words, but Steve waves him off.

 

“Makes sense. I hope you two work it out. You should tell him, y’know.”

 

Tony...for the first time in months feels like breaking down crying. He needs sleep. He needs...a shut down. Where’s the Life Reset Button? Seriously he’d like to know he’s done with this because if he can’t keep up with his own life then what’s the point?

 

“Sure,” Tony says, not having a single damn clue where Steve is getting at. Tony should just be thankful that Steve has no idea it’s _him_  that Tony has...just a little feelings for. Not too much. Again: attractive. That’s it, that’s all Steve is. A hot piece of meat.

 

Steve nods again, smiling. “Good luck. And good night. See you tomorrow.”

 

“See ya,” Tony says, already getting inside his car. He throws the jumper cables onto the passenger seat, and he tail gates Steve until they part ways. He fights sleep until he arrives home, and when he’s inside his apartment he barely takes his shoes and pants off before he passes out, not even comfortably snuggled in bed.

 

Sleep. That’s all that matters right now. Everything else...can be dealt with in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this is I guess an experiment for me? I don’t have an outline or anything with this, but I DO have a brief (very very brief) idea of where I want to go with this, so I’m literally hanging by a thread, but I’m excited, and if any of you guys have suggestions/things you wanna see, please comment! I’ll definitely try my best to incorporate what anybody wants because I think that’s what I need right now. I’ve been having a real hard time writing something (let alone something I’m even PROUD of. I liked the feeling of actually liking what I write :/) so I’ve been going through this really awful blip. I’m hoping this story can bring it back! 
> 
> Anyhow sorry about that. Please comment and kudo if you liked :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any mistakes!

First, he slept through his alarm. He doesn’t want to get started with how that’s even possible. Second, he couldn’t find his damn left shoe. Turns out it somehow made it under the bed, which is weird, because his right one was in the living room, but fuck it. Third, his car is dead again. Perfect.

 

“I’m never asking you for a favor again,” Tony says, his arms crossed and nose scrunched. He rolls his eyes when Rhodey bursts out laughing again. It...isn’t even funny. Rhodey has a terrible sense of humor.

 

“I just don’t understand,” Rhodey says, wiping a tear, chuckling. Tony looks at him in disgust. Seriously. Why is he friends with this guy? “Sorry, but you look terrible, you’re in the same c-clothes as yesterday, your car is dead. It—pssshh s-sounds like a m-mid life c-crisis HAHAHA.”

 

“Hilarious,” Tony mumbles. “Mid life crisis at twenty six. Do you want me to die early? Is that what you want?”

 

“No,” Rhodey says, raspy, and he’s grinning. “No—I swear, just—DON’T SLIP ON A BANANA HAHAHA.”

 

“Rhodey!” He is not in the mood for humor that doesn’t make any sense. Honestly, he’s capable of laughing at himself but this? “That’s not even funny!”

 

“S-slip on a banana,” Rhodey mutters, more tears leaking from his eyes. He’s biting on his knuckles, turning into their office building. “What’s next? A grey hair?”

 

“If you fucking jinx it Rhodey I swear I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

 

“BALDNESS!” Rhodey screams, wheezing.

 

He’s done. He’s so done with this life. He needs to pack up and leave and start all over. New house, new car, new friends, new job. He’s done with these people.

 

Tony stomps into their floor, Rhodey chuckling behind him. He knows he’s being dramatic, fuming like he is, when in reality he’s mostly annoyed. He’s not mad, and he isn’t even pissed off at Rhodey’s terrible sense of humor. In fact, this barely has anything to do with Rhodey. It has to do with everything. His car, his job, and now Steve. He doesn’t have space to be stressed about Steve. It’s as if, now that Steve’s been added onto this short list of problems, his presence has somehow exponentially risen everything else. Stress from work? Doubled. His car? Tripled. Steve? Multiply that shit by one hundred. Fuck him.

 

Calm down, Tony. It isn’t the end of the world. He must be on his man period.

 

Luckily he doesn’t have to worry about hay deadline tomorrow, seeing as he went through three fourths of that pile yesterday. He’s got to finish a few more forms, probably do a few invoices, then check his email for fifty thousand more things to do but today shouldn’t be too bad. Today, however, he’s definitely leaving early.

 

Or. Well. With whoever has a damn car, because if Rhodey isn’t leaving at four someone is and he’s asking for a ride home. No shame.

 

Even though he’s mostly engrossed with work (and occasionally...checking social media...and YouTube...and random articles online) he can _feel_ people staring at him. His friends, people he doesn’t know, Clint. Every time someone walks past him he can feel this _aura_. He can feel someone’s eyes on him from across the floor. He can hear whispers, occasionally catching his or Rhodey’s name. It isn’t fun, and he starts to wonder if this is half of what Steve has to deal with.

 

Except he feels no sympathy, because the man brings it upon himself. _Don’t fuck your way through the office, and maybe people won’t constantly talk about you. It isn’t that hard._

 

Pepper walks past him for the fifth time, and Tony just had lunch so now he has enough energy to pull her over and ask what the fuck everyone’s deal is. He should also check on Rhodey soon; see how the poor straight fella is doing.

 

She blushes. He waits, crossing his arms, hopefully showing that he’s got all day for this. Not literally, but Pepper should get his point. Actually, they both don’t have much time for this, so she better hurry the hell up.

 

“Okay,” she says, relenting after fifteen seconds of a staring competition. “Fine. Clint might’ve told Sam, who casually mentioned it to Bruce, who then told Darcy, Viz and Jane, and they told Thor and Wanda, and of course that means Loki and Pietro were in on it and then I think Natasha told Maria who accidentally told Fury so long story short it somehow got around that you and Rhodey are fucking and everyone’s freaking out about it because let’s be honest we all knew it’d happen eventually.”

 

“My _boss_  is hearing rumors about my _sex_  life?” Tony’s heart skips a beat, and he keeps a palm at his forehead. He’s feeling hot, is it too hot? He’s sweating already. Why is he sweating? His heart is beating a mile a minute; this probably isn’t good. Should he go to a doctor? He needs water, his mouth is doing that dry thing again.

 

“Tony I swear it was never meant to get out—“ she tries to be calming, but Tony isn’t having it. He can see it, hear it, everyone is talking about him. Everyone thinks they know something but they don’t and they’ve got it all wrong because it isn’t Rhodey, it will never be Rhodey, and Tony just doesn’t know if he’d rather have _this_  or let them know that he fucked around with Steve and Bucky instead. All he can hear is his heart beat, blood pumping, circulating and—and Pepper’s saying sorry, that it isn’t really that big of a deal and did someone—did someone just say Rhodey’s name again? Why do they—why does this—

 

“I’m not fucking him!” Tony yells.

 

It all stops. Everything stops for a second. He looks around, but the office is still bustling, people still moving, and he realizes he can finally hear again.

 

“Tony?”

 

He looks at her, breathing hard. “Today’s Tuesday?”

 

“I...,” She blinks, then comes closer, holding his face. “...am so sorry. I’m going to fix this now. Rhodey has already gotten pissed too. I wish this office wasn’t as nosy as it is. I swear none of us never meant any harm—“

 

“Stop talking,” Tony says, grabbing her wrist. He squeezes, but then he rubs it, showing that it’s alright. “It’s fine. I’m...not used to this is all. But it’s fine. It’ll all blow over. I’m just...” something _happened_. Something happened on Saturday and he hasn’t told anyone and it’s been eating him alive. He knows he’s been acting different, reacting differently, and if he were in the right set of mind he wouldn’t even _be_  freaking out. What is it that he needs?

 

He needs some fucking closure. He doesn’t know how, or why, or what, but he needs it. Soon. That unfortunately involves actually _talking_  to Steve, but he can do that. It’s not that hard. But what does he need to say? What does he need to hear? In reality, maybe that’s what’s fucking with Tony’s mind: he has no idea what he wants, it’s just this nasty craving that’s asking for more but of _what_  is the question. One he sadly doesn’t have the damn answer to.

 

He takes a deep breath, telling himself that this isn’t a big deal. Rumors, he can handle. Rumors, eventually go away. Rumors aren’t truths. Rumors...that Pepper will deal with.

 

See Tony? Stop acting like such a teenage girl. It’s unhealthy for an old man.

 

“I’ll tell them something else,” Pepper says, gears already shifting in her head. “I’ll—um, tell them my favorite aunt died or something.”

 

Tony furrows his brows. “You don’t—“

 

“Exactly,” she says, and she’s smiling, and Tony closes his eyes.

 

“Right.”

 

“I shouldn’t have started gossiping in the first place,” she continues, biting her lip. He chuckles, shaking his head.

 

“It happens to everybody, it would’ve gotten to me eventually. Remember your third one?”

 

She pulls a face, scowling. She backs away, pulling down at her skirt. “Don’t remind me, ugh. I don’t even own a rabbit.”

 

“Yeah okay lets stop there,” Tony says, and talking about Pepper’s rumors suddenly makes him feel like such a wussy. She deals with this all the time, and here Tony is with not even half a bad rumor and he almost hyperventilates. Such strength there, Tones. “You don’t need to spread anymore lies about yourself. I’ll just let this one blow over.”

 

“You sure?” She has a slight pout, honest, wanting to be absolutely positive that Tony doesn’t mind. She’s such a good woman. Tony truly doesn’t deserve her.

 

“Really,” he says, and he forces a smirk. “I mean, at least they aren’t saying that I’m fucking Clint. Now that I would cry over. No joke.”

 

She snorts, waving a hand. “Oh God, no one would believe that. Or _Steve_.” She giggles, then waves goodbye. “Alright, talk to you later. Tell me if you change your mind.”

 

“Definitely,” he says, stiff.

 

Yeah. He’d much rather have everyone think he fucked Rhodey instead of knowing the truth.

 

 

 

Three people leave around four thirty, and he’s only a little disappointed in himself when he asks neither of them for a ride. He knows who he’s waiting for, and he tells himself not to be ashamed. He has to go home with Steve, it’ll be the most convenient way to talk. The thing is, he doesn’t know what to talk _about_. But hopefully Steve could find out for him.

 

He keeps a close eye on Steve, and it isn’t easy, but eventually Steve looks about done at around five twenty. He looks around for Rhodey, making sure that he isn’t leaving as well; that would ruin his whole excuse. Luckily he doesn’t look anywhere near being close, fully engaged with his computer. Good.

 

The moment Steve heads for the exit, Tony does so as well.

 

“Steve,” he says, walking towards him, and Steve politely stops, offering a small nod.

 

“Hey Tony,” he says, waiting for Tony to reach him, and then he continues for the doors. “Leaving too?”

 

“Yeah,” Tony says, saying a quiet thanks when Steve leaves the door open for him. He follows Steve, nervous as they head towards the parking lot. “Ah—I was wondering if you could give me a ride home? My car battery is dead and I had Rhodey drive me here but—I don’t, I don’t wanna be a bother...”

 

Steve nods. “Sure.”

 

Tony blinks. What else was he expecting? For Steve to yell at him? Interrogate him? Since when did Tony get so dramatic?

 

Saturday night to be exact. Right. Get to the root of the problem. Fix it and then he’s all set, ready to get the old him back. Or he could be giving this soon to be conversation too much hope. Is it really closure that he needs? Closure from what again? The traumatic threesome he had? Or sure Tony, blame it on the supposed trauma. Then what is it? What is it that’s stuck on his mind?

 

Pleasing Steve.

 

No way. No way in hell is he still hung up on the fact that Steve made fun of him. Is that really it? If so, that’s not a conversation Tony can have with Steve, ever. It’s something he needs to get over himself. Great. Now he just got himself stuck on a car ride with Steve. It’s short, fortunately, so he won’t have to endure it too long—whether in awkward silence or awkward conversation. 

 

They don’t speak as they reach Steve’s vehicle, and when they leave the only sound is from the radio, some sports station on. Tony looks out the window, but he doesn’t focus on anything, instead letting the scenery pass by.

 

Steve asks him where he lives, and he’s reminded that Steve doesn’t even know him. Steve doesn’t know if Tony can cook or not, he doesn’t know which sports he likes, which cars. He doesn’t know about Tony’s family, his parents; what he wants from life. Steve doesn’t know anything important, what makes Tony himself, and vice versa at that. He doesn’t know Steve either. That’s a good thing. They both don’t need to know each other better than they already do. Tony has a way out, he has an excuse. No need to feel so inclined to be around Steve, or to prove a point. In the end it won’t matter, because in the end, he won’t know Steve, and Steve won’t know him. No matter what.

 

“So your battery’s dead?” Steve asks, just as Tony tells him to take another right.

 

“Oh, yeah. The battery’s old. I’ve gotta buy a new one, install it. She’s still good though, got a few years left in her,” Tony says, scratching his neck.

 

“How’re you gonna buy the battery?”

 

Tony shrugs. “Online probably.”

 

“Wouldn’t that take awhile?”

 

Tony narrows his eyes, fully turning to look at Steve’s profile. He looks innocent enough, his face passive and both hands on the steering wheel, watching the rode intently. Still, Tony feels the need to ask, “You wanna take me to an auto store?”

 

“Sure,” Steve says, as if it was Tony’s idea, and he then takes a left where he should have gone straight, and Tony’s unsure of how to feel about this. “I think there’s an Auto Parts nearby.”

 

Okay. This is actually happening. Tony’s got his debit card with him, he’s good, he’s got the money on him. It isn’t a bad idea either, Tony can get it fixed tonight and then he’s good until the new battery dies, and by then hopefully Tony will have a new car. In fact, it’s a great idea, and Steve’s being nice and offering to drive him there and home. This...is bad. He’s tempted to tell Steve that he changes his mind, he doesn’t have the money, but then he’s afraid Steve might offer to pay and if he does so Tony will have no excuse not to kiss the guy. Which is a terrible, terrible idea. Boyfriend. Remember the damn boyfriend.

 

“Are you going to Natasha’s surprise party?” He asks, and he already knows the answer, but he needs something to distract himself.

 

Steve nods. “Yeah. Bucky’s kind of bummed though, because he’ll be missing it. He’s an event planner, and he’s got this big project to work on about six hours away, so he’s going to be gone for the weekend. He told me to make sure Clint doesn’t get all the credit.” Steve smiles, laughing to himself. Tony forces a small smile, hoping it doesn’t come off too fake. Steve’s not looking at him anyway.

 

“That sucks,” Tony says, crossing his arms. “He didn’t know he’d be leaving when he was planning Natasha’s party?” Some professional. Not that Tony should be judging. Shut up brain.

 

“No,” Steve says with a sigh. “We didn’t know he’d even be leaving until last week.” Steve takes a breath, looking conflicted for a second. “We...definitely weren’t prepared. He doesn’t leave often. And when he does I’m usually able to go with him, but it’s busy season with work—well, you know. Everyone’s stressed. And I really can’t afford to miss three days.”

 

“When’s he leaving?”

 

“Friday morning. Comes back Monday afternoon.”

 

Tony nods understandably. He doesn’t know why Steve looks so stressed about it, but he doesn’t have a significant other of his own, so maybe it’s just a Thing. A Thing he shouldn’t be jealous of. Which he isn’t. Why would he be?

 

They reach an auto parts store, and they end up going inside together. Steve follows Tony around as Tony begins to look for a specific battery, and Tony finds that he doesn’t mind the added company. Steve’s presence is oddly...comforting.

 

Steve asks him questions about his car, and Tony answers enthusiastically. The year, the model, how long he’s had it, where he got it, how much it costed. He talks about his dream car, what he would want to do with it, his top five sports vehicles, and if he had the money he would fix up any broken down piece of junk and spend all his days just doing that. Somehow they’ve already bought the battery and made it back into Steve’s car, and Tony wonders how Steve got him to talk so much. It leaves him wide eyed.

 

“I’m not much of a cars guy myself, but I do like sports,” Steve is telling him, and Tony decides that maybe it’s Steve’s turn to talk, and he begins to ask questions about Steve’s favorite way to pass time.

 

It ends up taking the whole car ride home, Steve going on about his favorite sport (baseball), his favorite team, player, game—how he used to play in college, the games he went to, how weirdly obsessed he is with hot dogs. It’s a nice conversation, filled with laughs, and Tony’s almost disappointed when they reach his apartment.

 

Steve’s still in the middle of a story, so they walk out together, Steve droning on about apparently the “worst game in the world”.

 

“—and then in the beginning of the fifth inning he dropped it. I know, it’s unbelievable. I almost cried, and Bucky was making so much fun of me—“

 

They reach Tony’s door, and Tony would have gladly invited him in if he had no weird feelings about the guy. He genuinely can’t invite him in, because he has no idea what he’d say or do. Nothing, embarrassingly, now that Tony thinks about it, but he knows Steve will eventually drive his mind crazy and he doesn’t feel like dealing with that. Ever.

 

“—and the score ended up being three to ten—“

 

“Terrible,” Tony says, pretending to wince, because in all seriousness he has no idea what is coming out of Steve’s mouth. Steve probably felt the same about Tony and his cars. “We’re here.”

 

“—exactly what—ah, oh.” Steve pauses, looking around. Tony has his door open, already half way inside, and there’s a tense moment where Tony should have been inviting Steve in, but eventually the blond gets it and he takes a step back. “Yeah. Anyway, I’ve gotta get going. Bucky’s probably wondering where I am. Um. It was nice talking to you.”

 

“You too. And thanks again,” Tony says, ready to watch Steve leave and close his door. He’ll quickly microwave something, watch some TV and hopefully have a good nights sleep. The weight of the battery changes, his arms going weak as he guiltily looks at anything other than Steve. He’s tired, alright? He isn’t _obligated_  to invite Steve in.

 

Steve looks stuck, as if wanting to say more, and then he turns in defeat. “It was nothing. See you tomorrow.”

 

“Ciao,” Tony mumbles, and he finally closes his door. He leans against it, shutting his eyes.

 

The thing is, talking to Steve, one on one, wasn’t terrible at all. He reminds himself that Steve is only a hot dude. Who’s a baseball fanboy. An extreme baseball fanboy, and he gets a little cute when he rants about it.

 

And Steve also has a boyfriend. He has a boyfriend that he so obviously loves and will probably marry one day. Who he _will_  marry one of these days. Soon enough. It’s so soon Tony can already taste the proposal and the engagement party.

 

These are the times he wishes he had a pet, so he can sit down and talk to them, pet them and speak as if they can understand. One can always dream. One day he will, and he’ll spoil it like a child.

 

 

 

 

He can’t believe it’s already Wednesday. It’s been three days since the night Tony’s life went berserk on him. And know what? He’s feeling better. See? All he needed was a bit of time to process everything.

 

(He won’t admit that it could also be because of the great time he had with Steve yesterday.)

 

He decides to go out and _buy_  coffee before going to work, and he’s a hop, skip and a jump away from doing exactly that as he arrives to work. His car is working great (after fixing it _this_  morning. He sometimes just loves himself), he has a hearty breakfast and a great nights sleep. He has his favorite _coffee_  with him. What can go wrong?

 

“ _Stark_!”

 

Tony sits up straight, the coffee in his hand almost spilling. He lifts his head like a baby bird, and even if he recognized the voice, he still flinches when he see’s Fury standing outside his office, looking directly at Tony.

 

“My office. Now.”

 

Fury always has to make things so public. As he walks over, he catches some sympathetic faces.

 

He rarely ever realizes how loud the floor really is until he closes the door to Fury’s office, and all his ears can take in is the staticky noise of silence. He takes a seat, his hands neatly folded. He knows he finished the paperwork that Fury needed yesterday, he can’t recall any urgent emails, and by the look on Fury’s face, he isn’t getting a promotion.

 

Fury continues to stare, his dark brown eyes easy to get lost into. And not in the romantic way. Tony fidgets.

 

“Yes—?”

 

“Stark, Rhodes is one of our best employees. I can’t afford to have anything, and I mean _anything_ , jeopardize his stay here. You understand?”

 

Tony has no clue what he’s talking about. He unfolds his fingers, wiping them nervously onto his pants. How can Fury look exactly the same, every single second of the day. Like a picture. Does he have any other emotions other than “I look a mix of disappointed and pissed off”?

 

“I...don’t.”

 

Fury leans in closer, and even from across the desk Tony feels intimidated. Fury’s eyes begin to show red where the white is.

 

“I want you to look me in the eye Stark, and tell me that if something came down between you and Rhodes, Rhodes stays.”

 

Tony shifts, his face scrunching. He almost laughs, but it’s nervous laughter, and he clamps it down with a stern, “Excuse me?”

 

Fury leans back, his chair speaking. “I’m not saying that I know anything, or that I heard anything, or that I’m paying attention to any of the bullshit that gets spoken around here. I’m only saying this: if it came down between you and Rhodes, Rhodes stays. Now get out of my office.”

 

Tony’s jaw spasms, and he finds himself standing up and leaving. Fury heard something?

 

When he closes the door behind him, his eyes shut, and he almost drops to his knees when realization dawns on him. How wonderful. Now he gets the message: if, for whatever reason, he and Rhodey came to a terrible ‘falling out’: Tony would be the one to leave. That...is just amazing to hear from your boss. Exactly what Tony needed on a Wednesday morning. Let alone reminded of the rumor.

 

When he gets back to his desk, his coffee lost the magic it had, and that’s what really makes him hate Fury all the more.

 

 

 

 

He doesn’t tell Rhodey what happened with Fury. He knows that Rhodey will only laugh at him, and he has enough of that yesterday morning. On a happy note, people stopped being weird around him. Less whispering, saying either of their names, or giving him off looks. He doesn’t know if they heard about what happened in Fury’s office and feel sympathetic, or what, but he’s thankful for it. Even if he’s embarrassed by what Fury said, if that’s what it takes for people to stop gossiping, then so be it.

 

That is, until hours later when he’s taking a bathroom break, he stops just before the corner and hears a quiet conversation.

 

“—what I said? You really don’t want stuff to get around, do you? What was it you had Bucky and I do? Have us—“

 

“Okay!” Someone says, their voice strained, and Tony’s eyes widen when it clicks that it’s Steve and Loki talking. “I get it. I won’t talk about them anymore.”

 

“And?”

 

“And I’ll stop anyone that does. Are we done?”

 

There’s silence, and then Steve makes a small noise, mumbling, “Do you know anyone that’s free for the weekend?”

 

Loki laughs, seeming almost delighted, but it’s cruel, and Tony realizes he’s imposing. “God, you really are pathetic. But no. And Thor has a girlfriend now.”

 

Tony’s bladder isn’t in the mood for waiting much longer, and he takes a few steps back, then purposely stomps forward, whistling. When he turns the corner, Steve and Loki look more composed than ever, and Tony starts to wonder if there’s a lot he doesn’t know with them able to act so natural so quickly.

 

“Oh, hey guys,” he says casually, and Loki rolls his eyes.

 

“I’ll let you know if anything comes up.” Loki and Tony make eye contact, and Loki looks amused. “Tony.”

 

“Loki,” Tony greets back. He spares a glance toward Steve. He’s looking away, his composure breaking a bit, but Tony doesn’t have much time to figure out why and walks into the bathroom to do his business.

 

 

 

He’s alone, sighing as a stream of liquid pours out of him. He looks around, half tempted to whistle just for the fun of it, when the door opens. He looks down, hoping to hurry up, as the person walks further in. He doesn’t look at who it is. It’s an unspoken rule: don’t make eye contact in the bathroom.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

Tony jumps, his pee almost shooting somewhere off to the side. He finishes off, shaking his head dramatically.

 

“Jesus, Steve, you couldn’t wait for me to get out?”

 

Steve has the decency to look embarrassed. “Sorry. I was just...”

 

Tony zips up, nodding his head. He debates washing his hands, and withholds a sigh as he walks towards the sink. Might as well.

 

“Yeah I’m fine,” Tony says offhandedly, filling his palm with soap.

 

“Okay. I wanted to make sure. I’ve been hearing—“

 

“You don’t need to repeat it,” Tony says, massaging his fingers under the spray of water. He tries not to flinch at the memory of Fury choosing Rhodey over him. It’s not that he’d rather have it the other way around; he would have preferred not to hear it at all, even if deep down he already knew. This is his _job_  for Pete’s sake. “It’s fine. No need to feel sorry for me.”

 

“Why not?” Steve asks, following Tony as he dries his hands. “It’s personal. And from what I heard—“

 

“It’s just truth. I’m not mad.” He isn’t. Maybe disappointed, but that’s all. What can anger do for him anyhow? It wouldn’t help at all for him to sit and be depressed about it, or worse, do something to get himself fired.

 

“It’s...all true?” Steve asks, and at the sound of the surprise in his voice makes Tony stop, turning to him before he can exit.

 

“Hard to believe?” He asks. Well, he guesses it’s not everyday that Fury says that to one of his employees. Tony just might be the first. Wow. That makes this that much harder to deal with. Thanks Steve. He turns around, leaving.

 

When they’re out, Steve is following, but of course he is, because he has to get to his own desk too.

 

But he doesn’t leave when Tony sits on his chair, hand on his mouse.

 

“So what you’re saying is that—it’s true that—“ Steve pauses, and then he sighs in frustration. “I told myself I wouldn’t _do_  this,” he mumbles. Tony looks at him from the corner of his eye. Steve starts over. “So you don’t mind the—well, I guess they aren’t rumors—but—“

 

“Nope,” Tony says, popping the ‘p’. He shouldn’t make a big deal about it. That would give people an even bigger excuse to start something. He won’t give them that satisfaction. Take it in stride.

 

“So...” Steve is visibly thinking, so hard that his head might explode. Tony doesn’t understand what’s going on. “...okay. I think I get it now.”

 

“Sure,” Tony says, leaning back. “Is there anything else you need?”

 

Steve shakes his head, much to Tony’s relief. He tries not to let it show, sitting up again to pretend to get started on something on his computer.

 

“No. Sorry. I’ll let you get back to work.”

 

“It’s fine. Later.”

 

“...later.”

 

Steve turns his back to him, and Tony watches him leave, blinking in curiosity. He has an inkling that there were two different conversations going on, but it leaves the moment Steve is out of sight. He has more important things to worry about.

 

 

 

 

“They stopped.”

 

Tony stirs the noodles in the pot, furrowing his brows at Rhodey’s words. He looks at his phone, frowning.

 

“What stopped?”

 

“The rumors,” Rhodey says, his voice getting louder. “Can you believe that? It went away this morning. Just when it was getting juicy, too. Apparently we have a very active sex life.”

 

Tony hums, drumming his fingers along the counter. The soup should be ready in about two minutes.

 

“Well that’s good news. The rumors ending, I mean. Not our sex life.”

 

“I just wonder why,” Rhodey says, his voice surprisingly clear from the phone. “They never end this quickly. It barely started, what, yesterday?”

 

“Monday,” Tony corrects, stirring his noodles again. “But I wouldn’t question it. Just be happy it finally stopped. Did you hear about what Fury said to me this morning?”

 

He smiles, waiting for Rhodey’s telltale laugh. It doesn’t come.

 

“No. What’d he say?”

 

Tony’s stirring slows, and then it comes to a complete stop. Huh. It’s weird, but not entirely impossible. Rhodey could have missed it.

 

“Oh. Nothing. Never mind.” It’s not that funny anyway.

 

They talk for a few more minutes, the real reason Rhodey called being that he needed help with some form, and then Tony is comfortably eating his soup, alone.

 

He slurps. The sound almost has an echo, just to prove how alone he is. He wants the TV on, for some background noise, but he’s disappointed in himself for being too lazy to get up. He doesn’t budge an inch. At least he has his phone.

 

He scrolls around, bored, when a message pops up. He presses it, shoving another noodle into his mouth.

 

From: Steve

I need to speak with you privately. Would you like to join me and Bucky for dinner tomorrow?

 

He swallows, re-reading the message. What does Steve want to talk about, let alone in private? Why in his own home? Does Bucky want to talk to him too? He knows he has nothing going on tomorrow night, but he still finds himself hesitating. He shouldn’t be putting himself into their lives again; he already knows how bad that went the first time. Just as he’s getting better of course, he has to be tempted again. Why can’t Steve just let him be? Let him harbor this crush on his own? He can get over it, he knows he can, but he needs space. Ironically, this is the most he’s talked to Steve the whole time he’s known him! So why now? Why is everything changing now?

 

He bites his lip. His fingers move, all the while he hates himself. He’s doing something wrong, he can feel it, but he’s such a sucker for Steve. No. He’s not a sucker for anyone. He’s too nice, is what’s wrong.

 

To: Steve

Sure. What time?

 

He presses send, letting his phone clatter onto the table. He is such a masochist, isn’t he? He must love the pain he puts himself through. Well, would that make him a sadist? He decides both. He’s both.

 

Steve is unashamed. He texts back barely thirty seconds later.

 

From: Steve

Seven pm. Thank you. See you then.

 

Steve’s so formal. Why does he need to sound so formal? Tony doesn’t like it. See? There’s something he doesn’t like about Steve. That’s good. That’s progress. And in fact, he’s not going to text Steve back. Another point, because now he’s not desperate. He never was desperate for Steve. Never will be.

 

He spends the rest of the evening wondering what on earth Steve needs to talk to him about.

 

 

 

 

The days seem to blend together now, everything repetitive, bland, soul crushing. The only thing keeping him moving is the knowledge that he’ll be over at Steve’s again later tonight. It hasn’t been a full week and he’ll be going back. He wouldn’t go as far to say that he’s a sad excuse of a human being, but that’s basically it.

 

He doesn’t realize he’s watching Steve until the man is out of his sight, and when he looks down at the time the numbers four and fifty eight are staring back at him. He bites at his knuckles, unsure if he’d like to go home and take a shower, change, before he goes to Steve’s house, or if he should stay here until six thirty. He should at least change. Dress a little more informal. It’s just dinner.

 

He probably also smells. So, maybe he _should_  go for that shower. For the smell that he might have.

 

He leaves around five twenty, all the while deep in thought. When he arrives home, he stays near the entrance, taking in what he has. It’s very little, both because he can’t afford and doesn’t need more. He has a lone mug on the counter, and when he looks at the chipped edge and stained glass, he hangs his head. He’s so alone, so desperate. If only he could stay out of Steve’s life.

 

 _It’s just dinner_ , the rational side of him says, _quit being melodramatic_.

 

There’s just this feeling, like he _knows_  something’s going to change from this. It’s the same feeling he had before agreeing to the threesome. If he knows, why does he continue doing this? Why ignore the signs, push them away, try to make excuses for himself?

 

He takes a shower.

 

 

 

 

 

The last time he was here, the house seemed a lot more ominous. Now? It looks just like any other home, from the outside at least.

 

He knocks, hyper aware of how familiar it feels. Except now, there’s a lot less sin for his presence. The door opens, and he’s met with Bucky, starkly different than last time. He’s definitely more composed, less red, and...has clothes on.

 

“You’re early,” Bucky says, his voice low. Tony fidgets, unsure of what to say. Bucky widens the door, letting Tony in. “Steve’s just finishing up some pasta.”

 

It’s warm, and Tony can’t remember the temperature from last time. He was too preoccupied to notice, he supposes. He shrugs his jacket off, taking it with him as he follows Bucky towards the dining table. It looks the same, all the way back when he had breakfast with Steve. As he looks at Bucky, he wonders if he knows what happened that morning—the conversation they had. The fact that he and Steve were eating breakfast together, Tony was sitting in one of their chairs, eating from their dishes.

 

He takes a seat, his jacket hanging on top of the chair. He finds he doesn’t understand Bucky all too well, because if it were him, no matter if he were dating Steve or someone else, he wouldn’t be able to let anyone else touch his lover, let alone leave his lover alone with those people. He doesn’t know how Bucky can do it, why he doesn’t seem to care too much.

 

Steve doesn’t notice him until he turns around, mid way through a sentence.

 

“Do you think he’ll be alright with— _Tony_ ,” Steve says, freezing for a second. He composes himself quickly enough, turning the stove off and heading towards a cupboard. “How long have you been here?”

 

“Not too long,” Tony answers, trying his best not to get too far ahead of himself. It’s just...Steve can cook. Cooking never seemed sexy until now.

 

Tony’s eyes flicker to Bucky, deliberately bringing himself back to earth.

 

When Steve hands them their plates, he hears Steve mutter sarcastically, “Thanks babe.”

 

Bucky smiles, all teeth. It’s a moment between the two, and Tony feels sick to his stomach as Steve’s expression turns fond.

 

“No problem,” Bucky says, teasing. Soon enough however his face is back to being blank, and he’s digging into his pasta. Tony’s hesitant, waiting for Steve.

 

When everything’s set and done, he takes his first bite the moment Steve does. He sighs, the food of course turning out great.

 

They make a sad excuse of small talk before Steve finally gets down to why he invited him over.

 

“So. Remember when I told you Bucky was going away for the weekend?”

 

Tony sets his fork down, chewing slowly. His eyes flicker to the brunet.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Well—Okay, this...I think it’s safe to say we can relate on some level.”

 

Tony looks at Bucky again, hoping for some more input, but the man stays silent, jabbing at his plate. Tony swallows.

 

“How so?”

 

Steve says something with his eyes, but for the life of him Tony can’t interpret what he’s saying, and Steve sighs, as if he can’t believe Tony is making him say it out loud.

 

“It’s pretty well known by now that Bucky and I have a...ah, a certain style of living. In that we particularly enjoy spending most of our time...together. Intimately.”

 

“We have lots of sex,” Bucky says dryly, and when Tony looks at him a third time, he catches Tony’s eye, and he has the audacity to wink. Tony bristles, his attention going back to Steve. He looks annoyed.

 

“Specifically—I have this urge, and from my understanding you...are the perfect candidate to fulfill it. So what do you say?”

 

Tony blinks at Steve’s deliberate pause. Is he agreeing to something? He has no idea what Steve said in general. What is he getting at?

 

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, his forehead wrinkling, “can you repeat that?”

 

Steve’s gaze flickers to Bucky, and Tony’s forced to do so as well when Bucky clears his throat.

 

“Steve needs a fuck buddy for the weekend, and for whatever reason he thinks you can help. The other three people we usually go to aren’t available, so you’re basically our only option.”

 

No thanks.

 

It’s silent. Tony realizes he didn’t say it aloud. He tries to open his mouth, say something along the lines of “no”, but he’s frozen in place. He can hear his blood pumping, feeling it his hands, and the food isn’t all that appetizing anymore.

 

What does he mean, needs? Does Steve have some sort of medical condition? Is he some sort of animal? No one _needs_  to have sex everyday, or every weekend. Steve is probably fully capable of taking care of his goddamn self—but no, they want Tony to freely give away his own spare time to take care of a fucking sex addict.

 

A _sex addict_. That’s who he works with. He’s going to be sick.

 

“Did I—“ Steve pauses, his throat working. “Did I understand wrong? I thought—“

 

_What did you think, Steve? What understanding? What are you getting at? Why, again, did you think of me?_

 

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, interrupting. He stands, the chair scraping. It sounds too harsh, too loud. “I—I can’t. I’m—“ he stops, the same question coming back to him. “Why me?” He blurts out.

 

Steve smiles warmly. “I need someone I can trust. Who I know won’t get too attached. Or start getting ideas. Won’t make it difficult.”

 

Tony, despite himself, is insulted. Because that could be him, next Monday, convinced that Steve is in love with him. Now, of course, that he’s heard Steve say this—there’s almost no way he’ll be able to do it _now_.

 

He lowers his eyes. Steve is also mighty egotistical; how is he so sure anyone would grow attached to Steve? Granted, they did mention three other ‘candidates’ for this...job, but there are still plenty of others that can do way better than Tony. Without getting ‘attached’.

 

“Cocky,” Tony mumbles to himself. He looks back at Steve, his heart racing. He hopes they can’t tell how nervous he is. “I’m sorry Steve, but.” He truly can’t. He can’t go back to how he felt before, and he isn’t naive enough to think that...whatever he’s feeling for Steve will suddenly go away. He _won’t_  make it stronger, he won’t let himself, but if he did something reckless like that again...he might frustrate himself even more.

 

When Tony doesn’t continue, Steve nods, looking almost disappointed.

 

“Sure,” Steve says, then he clears his throat. “I understand.”

 

Tony stays standing, and when he looks down at his food, he still isn’t hungry. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. He needs to go.

 

He turns, grabbing his jacket. He starts to push his chair in, Steve and Bucky watching him.

 

“Sorry,” Tony says again. “I’m...gonna get going.”

 

“You don’t have to,” Steve is quick to say, standing as well. “We have dessert too. I’m sorry for springing this onto you—“

 

“Really,” Tony says, interrupting him. “Thanks for dinner. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turns to Bucky, giving him a nod, but Bucky isn’t paying any attention to him, instead swirling his pasta around with his fork. Tony ignores him, walking away.

 

“Tony,” Steve says, following him. Tony ignores him too, shrugging his jacket on. “ _Tony_. It doesn’t have to be—“

 

“I’ll let you know, is that better?” Tony asks, opening the door. He pauses to properly face Steve. “I’ll let you know.”

 

Steve doesn’t look satisfied. Confused, if anything else. “I thought—“

 

Tony closes the door, not interested in what Steve has to say next. He figures it’ll only annoy him even more.

 

This is the _second_  time Steve has propositioned him, with Bucky there in the sidelines. He truly doesn’t understand how Bucky can be _okay_  with this. Tony would never—he wouldn’t be able to handle the jealousy, the insecurity. Do they really have that strong of a bond? That no one could break it?

 

He’s insulted because Steve is telling the truth. He needs someone who won’t get attached, who will view it as just sex, and perhaps it _is_  just sex to Tony—the threesome wasn’t what fucked Tony’s head up for the next few days. It was _that_ —what pissed him off was that it was just _sex_. He doesn’t _want_  that. He doesn’t want to just have sex with Steve and it’s incredibly frustrating because he shouldn’t want anything more than that.

 

He _doesn’t_ , dammit. He doesn’t want anything to do with Steve or Bucky or anyone. Having that threesome created some sort of awful rippled effect, and Tony’s smart enough to realize when the universe is trying to tell him something, and it’s flashing a giant red _X_ his way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment what you thought and what you would like to see next/in the future!! It’s fun engaging with y’all :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyy SOOO sorry for the long wait. I accidentally switched fandoms ??? So now I feel so out of the loop because I haven't read/written any Stony in like forever. Hopefully some of you guys will /kinda/ enjoy this chapter because even I admit that this really...isn't that good. More of a filler, I guess, and I hate those kinds of chapters but I couldn't make it an better :(

He wants to ask what made Steve think that he can ask Tony to spend a sex filled weekend with him. It was quite obvious how Tony was affected last time—and to put it simply, it wasn’t anything positive. Steve said it himself, if he had known about the consequences of asking Tony, and Tony _agreeing_ , he would never have asked. So why do it again? What changed his mind; more specifically, changed his mind about Tony’s stance on him? In all honesty, Tony isn’t sure he’s still on good footing with Steve. Sure he’s felt better, more himself, but that doesn’t mean that their _relationship_ went back to how it was.

 

The manly thing to do would be to confront Steve; stop wallowing in self pity and talk to the damn guy. He _has_ , he’s done it before, but that turned out...being a lot more enjoyable than he initially thought, so now _talking_ to Steve leaves Tony hesitant.

 

He takes a deep breath, air filling his lungs, his chest expanding. He lets it out slowly.

 

Why did he say he’d let Steve know? He very obviously knew his answer: no. His answer is no, no thanks, look for someone else. Stay out my damn life, _please_.

 

This hesitance, this maybe in the air is tempting Tony. He should have put his foot down, but now he has an actual choice, an option, because _he'd let Steve know_. Tony knows how easy it is for him to text a lie—knows himself too well. It’d be so easy to text Steve right now, let him know that Tony’s okay with it, he’ll meet Steve when Steve needs him. _Without_ Bucky. Perhaps that’s the most tempting part about this whole ordeal. _Bucky_ won’t be there, and he’ll have Steve all to himself.

 

That...could possibly be the closure that Tony needs. Maybe, if he does this, if he shows Steve that Tony _can_ make him beg, feel pleasure for that matter, wouldn’t it cure Tony’s ego? Then there won’t be any bad blood left between the two, and they both leave after getting what they want.

 

Two separate agendas. Both using each other. There’s nothing wrong with that, as long as they both benefit.

 

Tony groans, switching positions in his bed. He needs to go back to thinking about how _bad_ this is. Or go to sleep.

 

It’s true, as much as he doesn’t want it to be. The moment he can make Steve beg will be the moment he’s confident, and when he has fulfilled everything he’s wanted: having Steve to himself. It would be like a relationship without all the baggage of the relationship itself.

 

( _Come on, Tony. You’ll see what’s it’s like to have Steve for a few days and realize you don’t want him_.)

 

Right. He won’t have Bucky there to distract him. It’ll just be them two, alone, exploring for a few days. Who knows, maybe he’ll find flaws about Steve that he doesn’t like. He could be an extremely sloppy guy or very selfish. He could...be the type to put milk before his cereal. See? All types of flaws that can hinder Tony’s growing desire.

 

Plan: Sleep with Steve again, find some flaws, figure out what it’s like to be as close to dating as possible, and get out of there before Bucky comes back.

 

...there’s no way Tony’s actually planning on doing this. Tomorrow is _Friday_. The day Bucky leaves. Would Steve need him Friday night? Would Steve need him every night? Would he finally see what’s its like to be Bucky?

 

Sleep begins to cloud Tony’s mind, and he’s quick to pass out on those questions, figuring after a good nights sleep he’ll be a bit more rational.

 

 

 

 

Steve doesn’t bother him for the whole day. He doesn’t pull Tony aside, walk over to his desk, ask to have a conversation. Twice, Tony went to the bathroom, stayed for a good few minutes, and Steve never came. They never make any eye contact either, and Tony realizes that he’s a damn liar, and he craves Steve’s attention more than he realizes.

 

Tony, despite himself, keeps a close eye on Steve, and when Steve still isn’t leaving by eight thirty, and almost no one is on the floor anymore, Tony heaves a great sigh and stands. He walks over to the blond, and with mild annoyance Tony notes that Steve is pretending he can’t hear him approaching.

 

So Steve’s going to be like _that_.

 

He stands behind him, arms crossed. How should he do this? Tap him on the shoulder? Speak? What on God’s green earth is he going to say? (Sure, let’s have sex Steve. I’ve made up my damn mind.)

 

“You don’t have to.”

 

Tony jumps, surprised that Steve spoke. Steve slowly turns to him, a deep frown on his face. Did Tony speak aloud?

 

“I know what you’re going to say,” Steve says, apparently a mind reader now. “And I’m telling you right now that I’m withdrawing it.”

 

Tony narrows his eyes. “I came here to tell you no.” Which isn’t true, but how could Steve possibly know?

 

Steve actually considers that. He shrugs a moment after, nodding once. “Okay. Good.”

 

Tony blinks. “Wait, no. No. I didn’t. I’m saying yes. I want to do it. I don’t mind doing it.”

 

Steve sighs at that, turning to his computer. He begins to log off, and Tony ignores the pressing thoughts to himself of _What are you doing?_ and _Why are you doing this?_

 

“I do,” Steve says. “I should have left you alone, and I’m sorry for dragging you back into this. I keep making assumptions that I shouldn’t be making. I can _tell_ that you don’t like it, Tony. I don’t know why you force yourself to think otherwise, but I can tell when someone isn’t one hundred percent interested, and I _need_ you one hundred percent.”

 

Right. Steve has done this hundreds of times before, of course he can tell when someone is or isn’t eager. Tony isn’t special in any type of way. Which, ironically, sets Tony’s mind a bit at ease. There’s probably going to be less problems that way, especially if they’re both gaining from the other. Tony reminds himself he’s doing this to experience having Steve to himself, that it will show his dumb mind that it isn’t what he _wants_.

 

Steve stands, ready to push past him. Tony slides in front of him, his face much too close to Steve’s, but he needs to prove a point. He takes a shaky breath in—great, like that helps him at all. Steve frowns at that.

 

“I _am_ one hundred percent,” Tony says, keeping his eyes on Steve’s. Steve inhales calmly, his gaze unwavering, processing. Tony tries to do the same, resisting the sudden urge to fidget.

 

Steve grabs his waist, twisting and switching their positions, quickly shoving Tony up against his desk. Tony grabs at the edges of it, eyes widening as Steve gets closer, trapping him, his eyes almost unforgiving as they glare at him.

 

“You’re sending mixed signals,” Steve whispers, his breath fanning over Tony’s lips. Tony subconsciously licks them, his heart beating harshly against his chest, his throat closing up. “I don’t like it.”

 

Tony licks his lips again, working at his throat. When he speaks, it’s harsh, low, gravelly, his throat unwilling to fully unclench for him. “You really wanna do this here?”

 

Steve dips his head, softly pressing his lips against Tony’s jaw. Tony inhales sharply, his grip tightening on Steve’s desk behind him. Steve presses a few more kisses down, whispering in between them.

 

“I’ve done worse in public places.” Steve sucks lightly, his teeth nipping just the slightest. Tony tries not to move, staying as still and quiet as possible. He doesn’t know how many people are still here, how many people might see.

 

“But if you can’t handle this,” Steve continues, switching to the other side, kissing Tony’s earlobe, his breath unusually hot as he mumbles, “Then I regret to inform that I don’t _want_ you.”

 

Steve thinks he can push Tony away—in fact, he thinks he’s _scaring_ Tony away. Unfortunately, he IS doing a good job of it, but it’s also...embarrassingly turning Tony on, and Steve seems to realize that when he presses forward, purposely teasing, only to realize the problem.

 

Steve looks down, as if he needs to see it in order to confirm it. He sharply looks up at Tony, no sign of playfulness left. Embarrassed, Tony looks away. Neither of them speak, and he wonders if maybe a part of Steve is disgusted or disturbed.

 

“One hour,” Steve finally says. “Meet me at my place.”

 

Tony’s mouth parts open as Steve begins to leave, his thoughts running wild. “Wait—like, meet you in one hour? Why? Steve? Steve!”

 

Steve ignores him.

 

Tony slumps against Steve’s desk, running a hand through his hair as said man leaves. An _hour_? What the hell is he supposed to do for an hour? Why did Steve say that?

 

He could go home and shower. Mentally prepare himself again.

 

Oh. Is that why Steve wants him to wait an hour? To see if Tony still _wants_ to do this? To commit to it?

 

Maybe that’s a good idea.

 

Tony takes a deep breath in, visibly adjusting himself. He fixes his hair, his pants, then heads off, in hopes that logic and reason will find their way back to him.

 

 

 

 

The shower did nothing but excite him. He ended up leaving the water freezing cold, shivering as he dried himself off. It definitely fixed the problem at hand, but not the right one. He knows how wrong it would be to go to Steve’s house in less than half an hour. Even if they did invite him over, even if Bucky consented to this beforehand, it just doesn’t feel right to Tony.Why would they ever be okay with this? Having other people in their sex life?

 

It is none of Tony’s business. He doesn’t need to stress over something that has nothing to do with him. All he needs to do is show up and have a good time. So why is he making this so difficult? Why can’t he just do exactly that?

 

He’s still got fifteen minutes.

 

Fuck it. He leaves.

 

 

 

 

Knocking on Steve and Bucky’s door doesn’t get any easier. Sure, he’s only done so no more than three times, but he still gets a sick feeling in his stomach.

 

The door opens, Steve clothed and unusually flushed. Tony stares wide eyed for a few seconds, only snapping out of it when Steve grunts and tells him to get in.

 

Once inside Steve locks the door. He turns toward Tony, his chest rising and falling quickly, not quite out of breath but almost there. When Tony looks down, he gets an eyeful of an bulge poking through Steve’s sweats. Tony swallows, suddenly overwhelmed.

 

“This might be a lot, Tony,” Steve says sincerely. “But maybe—with your experience—you’ll understand.”

 

Tony is unsure what Steve means by that but before he can question him about it Steve continues, the same staggering amount of sincerity still in his gaze.

 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this Tony? Doing this with me?”

 

Tony nods trying his best not to look exasperated.

 

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

 

Steve takes him towards his room. Right then Tony’s palms get sweaty. His mouth goes dry when Steve shucks his sweats off, throwing his undershirt somewhere else in the room. He turns to Tony, pulling him in through his belt hoops. Steve kisses him, going for dirty way too quickly. Tony struggles to keep up, Steve’s tongue surprisingly insistent. He makes occasional noises, trying to catch up, and then his shirt is being lifted over his head. He breathes harshly, his heart thudding. Steve drags him closer again, unbuttoning his pants for him.

 

Too quick. Steve’s going way too quickly.

 

“Wait,” Tony breathes out, his hands pushing Steve away. “Slow down. Slow down.”

 

“I can’t,” Steve grumbles, almost growls out, and he’s distracting himself with Tony’s neck. Tony looks down and notices that Steve’s touching himself, ruthlessly, with incredible speed. He furrows his brows and pulls himself altogether away from Steve.

 

“Stop.”

 

Steve freezes, his hand on his cock stilling. He lets go, looking worried.

 

“Tony?”

 

“You need to slow down,” Tony says, utterly confused with Steve’s urgency. “Look at you—calm down. This isn’t a _job_.”

 

“I _can't_ ,” Steve says, insistent. Tony looks down at his unbuttoned pants. He takes a moment to think, assess the situation, and decides that it’s about time he took initiative.

 

“Lie down on the bed. Don’t touch yourself.”

 

“But—“

 

“I don’t care. Just do it.”

 

Steve bristles, appearing ready to fight back, until he follows Tony’s orders. He lies on his back, obediently not touching himself. Tony buttons his pants again, barely sporting a chub. He looks around the messy room, curious, and Steve huffs.

 

“Tony—“

 

“Where’re all your toys?” Tony asks, wondering just how wild his and Bucky’s sex life must be.

 

Steve bites his lip, and then nods toward the closet.

 

“You want to use them?” Steve asks, his breath hitching. Tony’s cock jumps. He ignores his own flash of pleasure, instead taking a look at the closet.

 

One side of the closet has a whole bunch of clothes and a couple shoes but the other side is filled with various toys and the like. He sees too many overwhelming things, things he wouldn’t even know what to _do_ with, and shakes his head.

 

“No.”

 

“Tony—“

 

“Maybe some,” Tony finally decides. “But later. Right now, you need to slow it down a bit. Do you _always_ need something other than a hand?”

 

He looks at Steve, narrowing his eyes. After a few terse seconds Steve asks, “You’re joking, right?”

 

“You’re _serious_?” Tony asks incredulously.

 

“What?” Steve asks, looking defensive. “I can't. I need _more_.”

 

Tony narrows his eyes. “You want a bet?”

 

Steve stares. Then bursts out laughing.

 

“You think you can make me cum with just your hands?”

 

“Some lube would probably be nice,” Tony replies, glaring. Inside, he wonders when he got so calm and collected. Then he remembers just how wild and crazed Steve looked, as if the whole point of this was to just reach an orgasm. Which, yes, in their case it probably IS the only goal but—there’s a lot more too it. The journey matters, and sometimes it doesn’t require anything other than two warm bodies.

 

Steve stops laughing once he realizes Tony isn’t joking around.

 

“What are we betting exactly?”

 

Tony walks toward the bed, surprised that Steve is still rock hard. His eyes don’t linger on it for long, knowing that it’s rude to stare.

 

“If I can make you cum by myself, then you owe me three lunches.”

 

“I don’t think—“

 

“And if I can’t,” Tony continues, speaking over the naked man, “then I’ll use those toys of yours for the rest of the time being.”

 

Steve rolls his eyes. “When you realize you can’t, we’ll use my ‘toys’ AND you’ll owe ME a baseball game. Deal?”

 

Tony smirks. “Where’dya keep the lube?”

 

 

 

Tony stays on his knees, Steve’s thighs over his, comfortably on his back. He’s flagged a bit but nothing too major. Tony slicks his hands, trying hard to even his breathing. Steve is watching nonchalantly, a humorous glint in his eye, his hands wrapped behind his neck. However upon closer inspection, Tony can see just how tense Steve is. In fact, Steve seems to _always_ have some sort of tension radiating off of him, no matter how laid back he appears to be. His shoulders look tight, his chest strained, his thighs tense. Tony bites his cheek.

 

“Close your eyes,” Tony says, trying to get a way for Steve to relax. Steve smiles, holding back a laugh but closes his eyes nonetheless. Tony thinks of the time he’s massaged his girlfriends beforehand, whenever they were stressed or asked for a foot rub. He thinks he’s pretty good, for the most part. ( _Fuck—he’s always such a good boyfriend. Why doesn’t anyone stay with him_?) He shakes his head, shifting closer to move his hands around Steve’s chest.

 

He jumps a little at the surprised contact, opening his eyes for half a second. Steve opens his mouth, probably about to speak, before closing it and visibly relaxing. Tony massages his pecks, then his shoulders, his neck. He gently pulls Steve’s arms down, lightly squeezing his biceps. He then focuses on Steve’s sides, his stomach, and when he’s near Steve’s cock, he barely grazes it with a thumb before entirely ignoring it. He didn’t know Steve was holding his breath until he lightly gasped.

 

He looks up. Tony frowns when he see’s that Steve’s eyes are open again.

 

“Close your eyes.”

 

Steve rolls them but it seems less sincere this time. “Tony—“

 

“Relax,” Tony mumbles, his hands kneading at Steve’s thighs. “You don’t need so much...just focus on one thing for once.”

 

Steve breathes evenly. Tony watches his chest, his hands moving on their own accord. He makes sure Steve is breathing evenly. Soon enough, he slowly creeps up Steve’s thighs, getting closer and closer to the end goal. It’s quiet, calming, and Tony feels proud that he at least got Steve to look so relaxed, even if Steve doesn’t orgasm by the end of this.

 

He pours more lube over his hands, slicking them. He decides to ignore Steve’s reddened cock, because that’s all Steve seems to CARE about, so he instead feels in between Steve’s cheeks, running a slick finger over Steve’s hole.

 

Steve twitches but doesn’t say anything. Tony rubs earnestly, massaging the small space there too, and then teases him by barely pushing a fingertip in. Then he completely ignores it, rubbing along Steve’s perineum.

 

Steve slowly thrusts up, loosing patience, and though he says nothing Tony softly shushes him.

 

“What do you wish I was doing to you?” Tony whispers, rubbing Steve’s thighs again.

 

“I want you to touch me,” Steve says, his voice harder than it should be. Tony begins to doubt he’s doing the right thing but he pushes on. Steve has to be somewhat enjoying this because he isn’t soft. Yet.

 

“I am,” Tony says, squeezing, reminding Steve where his hands are. Steve’s thighs tense for a second and Tony tries not to get too excited when Steve audibly swallows.

 

“Touch my cock,” Steve says, his voice low. Tony represses a huff, stubbornly placing a finger on Steve’s cock. He rubs a small circle and Steve groans.

 

“No—“

 

“How?” Tony asks, his finger now slowly following the length of it, up and down, Steve’s cock smooth and rough against his fingertip.

 

“Just—“

 

“I’m gonna slowly open you up,” Tony says, usually this sort of talk reserved for special days for his girl at the time. But Steve reacts, his cock jumping, and Tony narrows his eyes at it, continuing his dirty talk. “One finger at a time. I’m gonna find that spot that drives you crazy, and you’re gonna rock against my finger. Prove to me that you deserve more. You want more than that, Steve?”

 

Tony rubs over his hole, teasing, and Steve arches just the slightest, subconsciously nodding his head. Tony leaves Steve’s cock alone, focusing on his next task instead.

 

He slides one finger inside, the action easier than he expected. He feels around, testing the waters. When he realizes one finger really _won't_ do anything to Steve, he adds a second. Steve shifts at that, at least. With that confirmation, Tony explores again, smiling triumphantly when Steve’s breath hitches the moment Tony’s fingers jab at a certain spot. He focuses there, steadily thrusting into it, pressing down, hopefully sending shocks of pleasure throughout Steve’s body. Tony eyes Steve’s erection. It’s still hard, which is a good sign.

 

“Steve,” Tony chastises, disappointed that the man hasn’t done anything but breath harshly. “Is this all you want?”

 

“More,” Steve says softly, his eyes shut still, seeming to be solely paying attention to the _feel_ of everything, not just trying to reach an orgasm. Tony feels accomplished, for once.

 

“More what?” Tony asks, spreading his fingers wide, then thrusting them in roughly.

 

“Touch me,” Steve says, almost whining, and Tony shivers at that, a white hot fire igniting somewhere in his gut.

 

“We’ve gone over this, Steve,” Tony reminds him, and he licks his lips as the the thought of blowing Steve pops into his mind. He adds a third finger. Steve sighs appreciatively. Tony wants to see him moan, and writhe, like he did the other night. So he scoots his body down, his face right in front of Steve’s balls. He gives them a few small sucks, Steve tensing, and then he flattens his tongue around the base of Steve’s erection.

 

“Tony—“

 

Tony’s dick jumps at that. Pleasure courses through his body at the sound of his name coming out of Steve’s mouth. He travels up the cock with his tongue, figuring he might as well just go for it. Steve sucks in a sharp breath when Tony wraps his lips around his head, tonguing around the slit, slowly swallowing his length down. He’s surprised when he can make it more than half way down Steve’s cock before gagging. It doesn’t seem to bother Steve too much. Either way, Tony shoves a third finger into Steve, distracting the man from Tony’s lack of skill. Steve’s moans grow higher, needier, and the moment Tony figures that there is a good chance he'll win, Steve grabs his head and pops him off his cock, finishing all over his face with a surprised gasp. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and thaaaaats an awkward place to end the chapter, sorry about that, but this has been sitting on my phone for weeks and I knew I'd never update if I didn't just throw this out here. The second part of this will start where this left off, don't worry, but I just couldn't go any further. Sorry if this sucks. I'm, like, in the middle of trying to change my writing style because I just...don't like how I write anymore. But it's hard. Idk. and also its my b-day soooo might as well post right?? hope you guys are having a better Monday than I am!!!


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